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Book iHA_§__ 

Copyright N" 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE CHILDREN '5 LONGFELLOW 

Illustrated 



HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
BOSTON Si NEWYORK, 




UVRARY ot COneREGS^ 
Iwo CoDiss rteceivdtf 

JUL 30 W08 

0»wyri|("i entry 

OLASSi «^ XXc. Nu 

COHY B. 



COPYRIGHT IQOS BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED <«\ H 



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PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

Longfellow has been fitly called the children's poet. 
Many of his poems have from their first appearance 
been favorites with youthful readers, and they have 
been widely used in the schools, but heretofore there 
has been no comprehensive collection of the poems best 
adapted for children's reading. It is believed, therefore, 
that this book will find a ready welcome at the hands 
of young people and their parents. 

The poems here printed have been divided into groups 
which follow, in a general way, the arrangement in the 
Cambridge Edition of Longfellow's Poems. With three 
exceptions, each poem is reprinted in its entirety. In the 
case of Evangeline, The Song of Hiawatha, and The 
Courtship of Miles Standish it has been necessary to 
make a selection of one or two complete divisions from 
each. 

Boston^ 1908. 



CONTENTS 

VOICES OF THE NIGHT Page 

A Psalm of Life ..... 3 

The Light of Stars ..... 5 

Flowers ....... 7 

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 

An April Day ...... 13 

Woods IN Winter . . . . . -15 

The Skeleton IN Armor . . . . 17 

The Wreck of the Hesperus . . .24 

The Village Blacksmith .... 38 

It is not always May . . . . -30 

To the River Charles . . . . 33 

Maidenhood ....... 34 

Excelsior ....... 37 

The Slave's Dream . . . . -39 

The Slave in the Dismal Swamp . . 41 

Serenade, FROM "The Spanish Student" . 43 

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, AND OTHER 
POEMS 
The Belfry of Bruges (Carillon; The Belfry 

of Bruges) ...... 47 

The Arsenal at Springfield . . -54 

The Norman Baron . . . . . 57 

Rain in Summer ...... 60 

The Bridge ....... 64 

The Day is Done . . . . . -67 

To the Driving Cloud .... 69 

Walter von der Vogelweid . . . •72 
vii 



CONTENTS 

The Old Clock on the Stairs ... 75 
The Arrow and the Song . . . -78 
Curfew ....... 79 

NARRATIVE POEMS 

Evangeline (Part I) . . . . . S3 
The Song of Hiawatha (Hiawatha's Sailing; 

Hiawatha's Fishing) . . . . .130 

The Courtship of Miles Standish (The Sail- 
ing of the Mayflower) .... 144 

THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 

The Building of the Ship . . . 157 

The Secret of the Sea . . . .172 

Twilight . . . . . . .174 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert . . . . .176 

The Lighthouse . . . . « 178 

The Builders . . . . . . . iSi 

Gaspar Becerra . . • . . ,183 

Pegasus in Pound . . . . . .185 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE 

The Phantom Ship . . . . . .191 

The Warden of the Cinqjie Ports . . 194 
The Emperor's Bird's-Nest .... 197 

Victor Galbraith ..... 200 

My Lost Youth ...... 202 

The Ropewalk ...... 206 

The Discoverer of the North Cape . . 209 
The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz . . 214 
Daybreak . . . . . . .216 

Sandalphon . . . . . .217 

The Children's Hour ..... 220 

Enceladus ....... 222' 

viii 



CONTENTS 



The Cumberland .... 
Snow-Flakes .... 
A Day of Sunshine 
Something Left Undone 
Christmas Bells .... 
The Castle-Builder . 
The Brook and the Wave 
The Old Bridge at Florence 
Travels by the Fireside 
The Sermon of St. Francis 
SoNGO River ..... 
A Dutch Picture 
Castles in Spain . 
The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face 
A Ballad of the French Fleet . 
The Leap of Roushan Beg 
The Three Kings .... 
The White Czar 
From My Arm-Chair 
Robert Burns .... 
The Windmill .... 

To the Avon .... 

Mad River ..... 
Decoration Day 
The Monk Felix, from "The Golden 
Legend "....., 



324 
226 
227 
329 
330 
233 

233 
^34 
235 
237 
239 
241 

244 
24S 
350 

253 
257 
360 
261 
364 
367 
369 
370 

273 

275 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 
Paul Revere's Ride 
King Robert of Sicily 
The Building of the Long Serpent 
The Bell of Atri 
The Ballad of Carmilhan 



283 
389 
29S 
302 

307 



IX 



CONTENTS 

The Legend Beautiful . . . .317 
Charlemagne . . . . . . -322 

INDEXES 

Index of First Lines ..... 327 
Index of Titles ...... 331 



ILLUSTR.\TIONS 

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH (page 28) Frontispiece 
And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door 

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS ... 24 
He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 
Against the stinging blast 

EVANGELINE ^'$> 

Homeward serenely she walked with God's bene- 
diction upon her. 
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of 
exquisite music 

HIAWATHA'S FISHING 136 

And he dropped his line of cedar 
Through the clear, transparent water 

THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. . . .160 
The sun shone on her golden hair, 
And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair 

THE CASTLE-BUILDER 233 

A castle-builder, with his wooden flocks, 
And towers that touch imaginary skies 

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 2S6 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door 

THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT . 298 
' ' Men shall hear of Thorberg Skaf ting 
For a hundred year ! " 




VOICES 

OF 

THE NIGHT 






^ A PSALM OF LIFE b. 



^' C- 



=i«\ • 



'-> r^i 






Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
Life is but an empty dream ! — 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not \\hat they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the gra\ e is not its goal ; 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or w^y ; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting. 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like mufiled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 



A PSALM OF LIFE 

In the world's broad field of batde, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime. 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time ; 

Footprints, that perhaps another. 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait. 



THE LIGHT OF STARS 

The night is come, but not too soon ; 

And sinking silently, 
All silently, the little moon 

Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth or heaven 
But the cold light of stars ; 

And the first watch of night is given 
To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love? 

The star of love and dreams? 
Oh no ! from that blue tent above 

A hero's armor gleams. 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

When I behold afar. 
Suspended in the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 

O star of strength ! I see thee stand 

And smile upon my pain ; 
Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand. 

And I am strong again. 
5 



THE LIGHT OF STARS 

Within my breast there is no light 
But the cold light of stars ; 

I give the first watch of the night 
To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 
Serene, and resolute, and still. 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
That readest this brief psalm. 

As one by one thy hopes depart. 
Be resolute and calm. 

Oh, fear not in a world like this. 
And thou shalt know erelong. 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong. 



FLOWERS 

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 

When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 

As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery. 

Like the burning stars, which they beheld. 

Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; 

But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation. 

Written all over this great world of ours ; 

Making evident our own creation, 

Li these stars of earth, these golden flowers. 

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing. 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the self-same, universal being, 

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 

r 



FLOWERS 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
Buds that open only to decay ; 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. 
Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 

Large desires, with most uncertain issues, 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 

These in flowers and men are more than seeming, 
Workings are they of the self-same powers. 

Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, 
Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 

Everywhere about us are they glowing, 
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 

Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing. 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn ; 

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing. 
And in Summer's green-emblazoned field. 

But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 
In the centre of his brazen shield ; 

Not alone in meadows and green alleys. 
On the mountain-top, and by the brink 

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys. 
Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink ; 
8 



FLOWERS 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 
Not on graves of bird and beast alone, 

But in old cathedrals, high and hoary. 
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 

In the cottage of the rudest peasant. 

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers. 

Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 
Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; 

In all places, then, and in all seasons, 

Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, 
Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, 

How akin they are to human things. 

And with childlike, credulous affection. 
We behold their tender buds expand ; 

Emblems of our own great resurrection. 
Emblems of the bright and better land. 






^^ 



V- 



BALLADS 

AND 

OTHER POEMS 




When the warm sun, that brings 
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 
'T is sweet to ^'isit the still wood, where springs 

The first flower of the plain. 

I \o\e the season well, 
When forest glades are teeming a\ ith bright forms, 
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell 

The coming-on of storms. 

From the earth's loosened mould 
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; 
Though stricken to the heart with Avinter's cold, 

The drooping tree revives. 



The softly-^^■arbled song 
Comes from the pleasant ^^■oods, and colored wings 
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along 

The forest openings. 
13 



AN APRIL DAY 

When the bright sunset fills 
The silver woods with light, the green slope thro\\s 
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, 

And wide the upland glows. 

And when the eve is born, 
In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far. 
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, 

And twinkles many a star. 

Inverted in the tide 
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, 
And the fair trees look over, side by side, 

And see themselves below. 

Sweet April ! many a thought 
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed ; 
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought. 

Life's golden fruit is shed. 



14 



WOODS IN WINTER 

When winter winds are piercing chill, 

And through the hawthorn blows the gale, 

With solemn feet I tread the hill. 
That overbro\\s the lonely vale. 

O'er the bare upland, and away 

Through the long reach of desert A^oods, 
The embracing sunbeams chastely play. 

And gladden these deep solitudes. 

Where, twisted round the barren oak. 
The summer vine in beauty clung, 

And summer winds the stillness broke, 
The crystal icicle is hung. 

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs 
Pour out the river's gradual tide. 

Shrilly the skater's iron rings. 
And voices fill the woodland side. 

Alas ! how changed from the fairy scene, 
When birds sang out their mellow lay. 

And winds were soft, and woods were green, 
And the song ceased not with the day ! 

15 



WOODS IN WINTER 

But still wild music is abroad, 

Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; 
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, 

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 

Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear 
Has grown familiar with your song ; 

I hear it in the opening year, 
I listen, and it cheers me long. 



16 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

"Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 
Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 
Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

Then, from those cavernous e3'es 
Pale flashes seemed to rise. 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow. 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

' ' I was a Viking old ! 
My deeds, though manifold. 
No Skald in song has told. 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 
For this I sought thee. 
17 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

"Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand. 

Tamed the gerfalcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-bound. 
Skimmed the half- frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

* ' Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear. 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were- wolf's bark. 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

"But when I older grew. 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled. 

By our stern orders. 

' ' Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out ; 
18 



THE SKELETON IN ARJMOR 

Often our midnight shout 
Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 
Filled to o'erflowing. 

Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning yet tender ; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid. 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

"Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all. 
Chanting his glory ; 
19 



I 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 
To hear my story. 

' While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed. 
And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly. 
So the loud laugh of scorn. 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

■ She was a Prince's child, 
I but a Viking wild. 
And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight. 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded? 

Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! 
When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand, 
20 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

Saw we old Hildebrand, 
With twenty horsemen. 

" Then launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast, 
Yet we were gaining fast. 

When the wind failed us ; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

' ' And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
' Death ! ' was the helmsman's hail, 

' Death without quarter ! ' 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 
Through the black water ! 

"As with his wings aslant. 
Sails the fierce cormorant. 
Seeking some rocky haunt. 
With his prey laden, — 
So toward the open main. 
Beating to sea again. 
Through the wild hurricane. 
Bore I the maiden, 
21 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

"Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour, 
Stands looking seaward. 

' ' There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
She had forgot her fears, 

She was a mother ; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes. 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another ! 

"Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men. 

The sunlight hateful ! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear. 

Oh, death was grateful ! 

"Thus, seamed with many scars. 
Bursting these prison bars, 
22 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland ! skoal!'' 

Thus the tale ended. 



23 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouth. 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blo^v* 

The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 

Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 

' I pray thee, put into yonder port. 
For I fear a hurricane. 

' Last night, the moon had a golden ring. 
And to-night no moon we see ! ' ' 

The skipper, he blew a whifl'from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 
24 



He zurapped her warm hi his seaman's coat 
Against the stinging blast 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 
A gale from the Northeast, 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 
- And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed. 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

' ' O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
'"T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — 

And he steered for the open sea. 

' ' O father ! I hear the sound of guns. 

Oh say, what may it be? " 
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! ' ' 
25 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

' O father ! I see a gleaming light, 

Oh say, what may it be? " 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies. 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 
26 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 
. Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her ratding shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast. 
To see the form of a maiden fair. 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast. 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw^ her hair, like the brow n sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ! 

Christ save us all from a death like this. 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



27 




THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty rnan is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long. 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat. 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge. 
With measured beat and slow, 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell. 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the flaming forge. 

And hear the bellows roar, 
28 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff' from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice. 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 

Onward through life he goes ; 
Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close ; 
Something attempted, something done. 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
For the lesson thou hast taught ! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought ; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought. 
29 




IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY 

The sun is bright, — the air is clear, 
The darting swallows soar and sing, 

And from the stately elms I hear 
The bluebird prophesying Spring. 

So blue yon winding river flows. 
It seems an outlet from the sky, 

Where, waiting till the west wind blows, 
The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 

All things are new ; — the buds, the leaves. 
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, 

And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — 
There are no birds in last year's nest ! 

All things rejoice in youth and love, 
The fulness of their first delight ! 

And learn from the soft heavens above 
The melting tenderness of night. 

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme. 
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; 

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime. 
For oh, it is not always May ! 
30 



IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY 

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
To some good angel leave the rest ; 
For Time will teach thee soon the truth, 
-There are no birds in last year's nest ! 



31 







TO THE RIVER CHARLES 

River ! that in silence windest 

Through the meadows, bright and free, 
Till at length thy rest thou findest 

In the bosom of the sea ! 

Four long years of mingled feeling, 
Half in rest, and half in strife, 

I have seen thy waters stealing 
Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River! 

Many a lesson, deep and long ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver ; 

I can give thee but a song. 

Oft in sadness and in illness, 

I have watched thy current glide. 

Till the beauty of its stillness 
Overflowed me, like a tide. 

And in better hours and brighter. 
When I saw thy waters gleam, 

I have felt my heart beat lighter, 
And leap onward with thy stream. 

32 



TO THE RIVER CHARLES 

Not for this alone I love thee, 
Nor because thy waves of blue 

From celestial seas above thee 
Take their own celestial hue. 

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, 

And thy waters disappear. 
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee. 

And have made thy margin dear. 

More than this ; — thy name reminds me 
Of three friends, all true and tried ; 

And that name, like magic, binds me 
Closer, closer to thy side. 

Friends my soul with joy remembers ! 

How like quivering flames they start. 
When I fan the living embers 

On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 

'T is for this, thou Silent River! 

That my spirit leans to thee ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver. 

Take this idle song from me. 



33 



MAIDENHOOD 

Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies ! 

Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
As the braided streamlets run ! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 

Gazing, with a timid glance. 
On the brooklet's swift advance. 
On the river's broad expanse ! 

Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem. 
As the river of a dream. 

Then why pause with indecision, 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 
34 



MAIDENHOOD 

Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
As the dove, with starded eye, 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more. 
Deafened by the cataract's roar? 

Oh, thou child of many prayers ! 

Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares ! 

Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon. 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
When the young heart overflows. 
To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a lily in thy hand ; 

Gates of brass cannot withstand 

One touch of that magic wand. 

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth. 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 
35 



MAIDENHOOD 

Oh, that dew, like bahn, shall steal 
Into wounds that cannot heal, 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 



36 



EXCELSIOR 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath. 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan. 
Excelsior ! 

Try not the Pass ! ' ' the old man said ; 
Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! ' ' 
And loud that clarion voice replied. 
Excelsior ! 
37 



EXCELSIOR 

"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh. 
Excelsior ! 

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
This was the peasant's last Good-night ; 
A voice replied, far up the height. 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air. 
Excelsior ! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found. 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device. 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray. 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 
38 



THE SLAVE'S DREAM 

Beside the ungathered rice he lay, 

His sickle in his hand ; 
His breast was bare, his matted hair 

Was buried in the sand. 
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, 

He saw his Native Land. 

Wide through the landscape of his dreams 

The lordly Niger flowed ; 
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain 

Once more a king he strode ; 
And heard the tinkling caravans 

Descend the mountain road. 

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen 

Among her children stand ; 
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks. 

They held him by the hand ! — 
A tear burst from the sleeper's Uds 

And fell into the sand. 

And then at furious speed he rode 

Along the Niger's bank ; 
His bridle-reins were golden chains, 

And, with a martial clank, 
39 



THE SLAVE'S DREAM 

At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel 
Smiting his stallion's flank. 

Before him, like a blood-red flag, 

The bright flamingoes flew ; 
From morn till night he followed their flight, 

O'er plains where the tamarind grew. 
Till he saw the roofs of Caflre huts. 

And the ocean rose to view. 

At night he heard the lion roar. 

And the hyena scream. 
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds 

Beside some hidden stream ; 
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, 

Through the triumph of his dream. 

The forests, with their myriad tongues, 

Shouted of liberty ; 
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud. 

With a voice so wild and free. 
That he started in his sleep and smiled 

At their tempestuous glee. 

He did not feel the driver's whip. 

Nor the burning heat of day ; 
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, 

And his lifeless body lay 
A worn-out fetter, that the soul 

Had broken and thrown away ! 

40 



THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP 

In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 

The hunted Negro lay ; 
He saw the fire of the midnight camp, 
And heard at times a horse's tramp 

And a bloodhound's distant bay. 

Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine, 

In bulrush and in brake ; 
Where waving mosses shroud the pine, 
And the cedar groA\s, and the poisonous vine 

Is spotted like the snake ; 

Where hardly a human foot could pass. 

Or a human heart would dare, 
On the quaking turf of the green morass 
He crouched in the rank and tangled grass. 

Like a wild beast in his lair. 

A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; 

Great scars deformed his face ; 
On his forehead he bore the brand of shame. 
And the rags, that hid his mangled frame. 

Were the livery of disgrace. 

All things above were bright and fair, 
All things were glad and free ; 
41 



THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP 

Lithe squirrels darted here and there, 
And wild birds filled the echoing air 
With songs of Liberty ! 

On him alone was the doom of pain, 

From the morning of his birth ; 
On him alone the curse of Cain 
Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain; 
And struck him to the earth ! 



42 



SERENADE 

FROM "the SPANISH STUDENT " 

Stars of the summer night ! 

Far in yon azure deeps, 
Hide, hide your golden light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Moon of the summer night ! 

Far down yon western steeps. 
Sink, sink in silver light ! 

She sleeps ! 
M}- lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Wind of the summer night ! 

Where yonder A\'oodbine creeps, 
Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Dreams of the summer night ! 

Tell her, her lover keeps 
Watch ! while in slumbers light 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

43 



♦. 



.-a*£s_ 







THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 
AND OTHER POEMS 



Y^ 



A/y-'^ 




/, THE BELFRY OF BRUGES ^^^ 




CARILLON 

In the ancient town of Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city, 
As the evening shades descended, 
how and loud and sweetly blended, 
Low at times and loud at times. 
And changing like a poet's rhymes. 
Rang the beautiful ^\ ild chimes 
From the Belfry in the market 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

Then, with deep sonorous clangor 
Calmly answering their sweet anger. 
When the wrangling bells had ended, 
Slowly struck the clock eleven, 
And, from out the silent heaven. 
Silence on the town descended. 
Silence, silence everywhere, 
On the earth and in the air, 
Save that footsteps here and there 
47 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

Of some burgher home returning, 
By the street lamps faintly burning, 
For a moment woke the echoes 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

But amid my broken slumbers 
Still I heard those magic numbers. 
As they loud proclaimed the flight 
And stolen marches of the night ; 
Till their chimes in sweet collision 
Mingled with each wandering vision, 
Mingled with the fortune-telling 
Gypsy-bands of dreams and fancies, 
Which amid the waste expanses 
Of the silent land of trances 
Have their solitary dwelling ; 
All else seemed asleep in Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city. 

And I thought how like these chimes 
Are the poet's airy rhymes, 
All his rhymes and roundelays, 
His conceits, and songs, and ditties. 
From the belfry of his brain, 
Scattered downward, though in vain, 
On the roofs and stones of cities ! 
For by night the drowsy ear 
Under its curtains cannot hear, 
And by day men go their ways, 
48 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

Hearing the music as they pass, 
But deeming it no more, alas ! 
Than the hollow sound of brass. 

Yet perchance a sleepless wight, 

Lodging at some humble inn 

In the narrow lanes of life. 

When the dusk and hush of night 

Shut out the incessant din 

Of daylight and its toil and strife. 

May listen with a calm delight 

To the poet's melodies, 

Till he hears, or dreams he hears, 

Intermingled with the song, 

Thoughts that he has cherished long ; 

Hears amid the chime and singing 

The bells of his own village ringing. 

And wakes, and finds his slumberous eyes 

Wet with most delicious tears. 

Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay 
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble, 
Listening with a wild delight 
To the chimes that, through the night. 
Rang their changes from the Belfry 
Of that quaint old Flemish city. 



49 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and 

brown ; 
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches 

o'er the town. 

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower 

I stood, 
And the world threw off the darkness, like the Aveeds of 

widowhood. 

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with 

streams and vapors gray. 
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the 

landscape lay. 

At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here 

and there. 
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, 

ghost-like, into air. 

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning 

hour, 
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. 

50 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows 
wild and high ; 

And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more dis- 
tant than the sky. 

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden 
times. 

With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melan- 
choly chimes, 

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns 

sing in the choir ; 
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting 

of a friar. 

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled 

my brain ; 
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth 

again ; 

All the Foresters of Flanders, — mighty Baldwin Bras 

de Fer, 
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy, Philip, Guy de Dam- 

pierre. 

I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days 

of old ; 
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore 

the Fleece of Gold ; 

51 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden 

argosies ; 
Ministers from twenty nations ; more than royal pomp 

and ease. 

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the 

ground ; 
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and 

hound ; 

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept 

with the queen, 
And the armed guard around them, and the sword 

unsheathed between. 

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers 

bold. 
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs 

of Gold ; 

Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods 
moving west, 

Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Drag- 
on's nest. 

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with 

terror smote ; 
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's 

throat ; 

52 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of 

sand, 
" I am Roland ! I am Roland ! there is victory in the 

land!" 

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened 

city's roar 
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their 

graves once more. 

Hours had passed away like minutes ; and, before I was 

aware, 
Lo ! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined 

square. 



53 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; 

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villages with strange alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, 
When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! 

What loud lament and dismal Miserere 
Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, 

The cries of agony, the endless groan. 
Which, through the ages that have gone before us. 

In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, 

Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, 

And loud, amid the universal clamor, 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din. 

And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin ; 

54 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD 

The tumult of each sacked and burning village ; 

The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; 

The wailof famine in beleaguered towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, 
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ; 

And ever and anon, in tones of thunder 
The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, 
With such accursed instruments as these. 

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, 
And j arrest the celestial harmonies? 

Were half the power that fills the world with terror. 
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, 

Given to redeem the human mind from error, 
There were no need of arsenals or forts : 

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! 

And every nation, that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 

Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain ! 

Down the dark future, through long generations. 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease ; 

And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 

I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace ! " 



55 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD 

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals 

The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! 

But beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 



56 



THE NORMAN BARON 

In his chamber, weak and dying, 
Was the Norman baron lying ; 
Loud, without, the tempest thundered, 
And the castle-turret shook. 

In this fight was Death the gainer, 
Spite of vassal and retainer. 
And the lands his sires had plundered, 
Written in the Doomsday Book. 

By his bed a monk was seated. 
Who in humble voice repeated 
Many a prayer and pater-noster. 
From the missal on his knee ; 

And, amid the tempest pealing. 
Sounds of bells came faintly stealing. 
Bells, that from the neighboring kloster 
Rang for the Nativity. 

In the hall, the serf and vassal 

Held, that night, their Christmas wassail ; 

Many a carol, old and saintly. 

Sang the minstrels and the waits ; 
57 



THE NORMAN BARON 

And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, 
That the storm was heard but faintly, 
Knocking at the castle- gates. 

Till at length the lays they chanted 
Reached the chamber terror-haunted, 
Where the monk, with accents holy. 
Whispered at the baron's ear. 

Tears upon his eyelids glistened, 
As he paused awhile and listened, 
And the dying baron slowly 

Turned his weary head to hear. 

' Wassail for the kingly stranger 
Born and cradled in a manger ! 
King, like David, priest, like Aaron, 
Christ is born to set us free ! ' ' 

And the lightning showed the sainted 
Figures on the casement painted, 
And exclaimed the shuddering baron, 
"Miserere, Domine! " 

In that hour of deep contrition 
He beheld, with clearer vision. 
Through all outward show and fashion, 
Justice, the Avenger, rise. 
58 



THE NORMAN BARON 

All the pomp of earth had vanished, 
Falsehood and deceit were banished, 
Reason spake more loud than passion. 
And the truth wore no disguise. 

Every vassal of his banner. 
Every serf born to his manor. 
All those wronged and wretched creatures. 
By his hand were freed again. 

And, as on the sacred missal 
He recorded their dismissal. 
Death relaxed his iron features. 

And the monk replied, ' ' Amen ! ' ' 

Many centuries have been numbered 
Since in death the baron slumbered 
By the convent's sculptured portal. 
Mingling with the common dust : 

But the good deed, through the ages 
Living in historic pages. 
Brighter grows and gleams immortal, 
Unconsumed by moth or rust. 



59 



RAIN IN SUMMER 

How beautiful is the rain ! 
After the dust and heat, 
In the broad and fiery street, 
In the narrow lane. 
How beautiful is the rain ! 

How it clatters along the roofs, 

Like the tramp of hoofs ! 

How it gushes and struggles out 

From the throat of the overflowing spout ! 

Across the window-pane 

It pours and pours ; 

And swift and wide. 

With a muddy tide. 

Like a river down the gutter roars 

The rain, the welcome rain ! 

The sick man from his chamber looks 
At the twisted brooks ; 
He can feel the cool 
Breath of each little pool ; 
His fevered brain 
Grows calm again. 

And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 
60 



RAIN IN SUMMER 

From the neighboring school 

Come the boys, 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion ; 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets, 

Till the treacherous pool 

Ingulfs them in its whirling 

And turbulent ocean. 

In the country, on every side. 

Where far and wide, 

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide. 

Stretches the plain, 

To the dry grass and the drier grain 

How welcome is the rain ! 

In the furroAved land 
The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; 
Lifting the yoke-encumbered head. 
With their dilated nostrils spread. 
They silendy inhale 
The clover-scented gale, 
And the vapors that arise 
From the well-watered and smoking soil. 
For this rest in the furrow after toil 
Their large and lustrous eyes 
Seem to thank the Lord, 
More than man's spoken Avord. 
61 



RAIN IN SUMMER 

Near at hand, 

From under the sheltering trees, 

The farmer sees 

His pastures, and his fields of grain 

As they bend their tops 

To the numberless beating drops 

Of the incessant rain. 

He counts it as no sin 

That he sees therein 

Only his own thrift and gain. 

These, and far more than these. 

The Poet sees ! 

He can behold 

Aquarius old 

Walking the fenceless fields of air ; 

And from each ample fold 

Of the clouds about him rolled 

Scattering everywhere 

The showery rain. 

As the farmer scatters his grain. 

He can behold 
Things manifold 

That have not yet been wholly told, - 
Have not been wholly sung nor said. 
For his thought, that never stops. 
Follows the water-drops 
Down to the graves of the dead, 
62 



RAIN IN SUMMER 

Down through chasms and gulfs profound, 

To the dreary fountain-head 

Of lakes and rivers under ground ; 

And sees them, when the rain is done, 

On the bridge of colors seven 

Climbing up once more to heaven, 

Opposite the setting sun. 

Thus the Seer, 

With vision clear. 

Sees forms appear and disappear. 

In the perpetual round of strange. 

Mysterious change 

From birth to death, from death to birth. 

From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth ; 

Till glimpses more sublime 

Of things unseen before. 

Unto his wondering eyes reveal 

The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel 

Turning forevermore 

In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 



63 



THE BRIDGE 

I STOOD on the bridge at midnight, 
As the clocks were striking the hour, 

And the moon rose o'er the city. 
Behind the dark church-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 

In the waters under me, 
Like a golden goblet falling 

And sinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 

Of that lovely night in June, 
The blaze of the flaming furnace 

Gleamed redder than the moon. 

Among the long, black rafters 

The wavering shadows lay. 
And the current that came from the ocean 

Seemed to lift and bear them away ; 

As, sweeping and eddying through them. 

Rose the belated tide. 
And, streaming into the moonlight, 

The seaweed floated wide. 
64 



THE BRIDGE 

And like those waters rushing 
Among the wooden piers, 

A flood of thoughts came o'er me 
That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, oh how often. 
In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood on that bridge at midnight 
And gazed on that wave and sky ! 

How often, oh how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and restless. 
And my life was full of care. 

And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea ; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 

Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 
65 



THE BRIDGE 

And I think how many thousands 
Of care-encumbered men, 

Each bearing his burden of sorrow, 
Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro. 
The young heart hot and restless. 

And the old subdued and slow ! 

And forever and forever, 
As long as the river flows. 

As long as the heart has passions, 
As long as life has woes ; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear, 

As the symbol of love in heaven. 
And its wavering image here. 



66 



THE DAY IS DONE 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist. 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 

That my soul cannot resist : 

A feeling of sadness and longing. 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorro\v^ only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay. 

That shall soothe this resdess feeling. 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 
Not from the bards sublime. 

Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time. 
67 



THE DAY IS DONE 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavor; 
And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet. 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer. 
Or tears from the eyelids start ; 

Who, through long days of labor. 

And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music. 
And the cares, that infest the day. 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 

68 



TO THE DRIVING CLOUD 

Gloom\" and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty 

Omahas ; 
Gloomy and dark as the driving cloud, whose name 

thou hast taken ! 
Wrapped in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through 

the city's 
Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of 

rivers 
Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us only 

their footprints. 
What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but 

the footprints ? 

How canst thou walk these streets, who hast trod the 

green turf of the prairies ? 
How canst thou breathe this air, who hast breathed the 

sweet air of the mountains ? 
Ah ! 't is in vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou 

dost challenge 
Looks of disdain in return, and question these walls and 

these pavements. 
Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while do\A'n- 

trodden millions 
Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its caverns 

that they, too. 
Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim its divi- 
sion ! 

69 



TO THE DRIVING CLOUD 

Back, then, back to thy wocxis in the regions west of 

the Wabash ! 
There as a monarch thou reignest. In autumn the leaves 

of the maple 
Pave the floors of thy palace-halls with gold, and in 

summer 
Pine-trees waft through its chambers the odorous breath 

of their branches. 
There thou art strong and great, a hero, a tamer of 

horses ! 
There thou chasest the stately stag on the banks of the 

Elkhorn, 
Or by the roar of the Running- Water, or where the 

Omaha 
Calls thee, and leaps through the wild ravine like a brave 

oftheBlackfeet! 

Hark ! what murmurs arise from the heart of those 

mountainous deserts ? 
Is it the cry of the Foxes and Crows, or the mighty 

Behemoth, 
Who, unharmed, on his tusks once caught the bolts of 

the thunder. 
And now lurks in his lair to destroy the race of the red 

man ? 
Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the Crows and 

the Foxes, 
Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the tread of 

Behemoth, 

70 



TO THE DRIVING CLOUD 

Lo ! the bii? thunder-caiioe, that steadily breasts the 

Miss(3iiri's 
Merciless current ! and yonder, afar on the prairies, the 

camp-fires 
Gleam through the niglit ; and the cloud of dust in the 

gray of the daybreak 
Marks not the buffalo's track, nor the Mandan's dex- 
terous horse-race ; 
It is a caravan, whitening the desert where dwell the 

Camanches ! 
Ha ! how the breath of these Saxons and Celts, like the 

blast of the east-\\"ind. 
Drifts CAcrmore to the west the scanty smokes of thy 

wig\rams ! 



71 



WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID 

VoGELWEiD the Minnesinger, 
When he left this world of ours, 

Laid his body in the cloister, 

Under Wiirtzburg's minster towers. 

And he gave the monks his treasures, 
Gave them all with this behest : 

They should feed the birds at noontide 
Daily on his place of rest ; 

Saying, ' ' From these wandering minstrels 
I have learned the art of song ; 

Let me now repay the lessons 

They have taught so well and long." 

Thus the bard of love departed ; 

And, fulfilling his desire. 
On his tomb the birds were feasted 

By the children of the choir. 

Day by day, o'er tower and turret, 

In foul weather and in fair. 
Day by day, in vaster numbers, 

Flocked the poets of the air. 
72 



WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID 

Oil the tree \Ahose heavy branches 

Overshadowed all the place, 
On the pavement, on the tombstone. 

On the poet's sculptured face, 

On the cross-bars of each window, 

On the lintel of each door. 
They renewed the War of Wartburg, 

Which the bard had fought before. 

There they sang their merry carols. 
Sang their lauds on every side ; 

And the name their voices uttered 
Was the name of Vogelweid. 

Till at length the portly abbot 

Murmured, "Why this waste of food ? 
Be it changed to loaves henceforward 

For our fasting brotherhood." 

Then in vain o'er tower and turret, 
From the walls and woodland nests. 

When the minster bells rang noontide. 
Gathered the unwelcome guests. 

Then in vain, with cries discordant. 
Clamorous round the Gothic spire. 

Screamed the feathered Minnesingers 
For the children of the choir. 
73 



WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID 

Time has long effaced the inscriptions 
On the cloister's funeral stones, 

And tradition only tells us 

Where repose the poet's bones. 

But around the vast cathedral, 
By sweet echoes multiplied. 

Still the birds repeat the legend, 
And the name of Vogelweid. 



74 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 

Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar-trees their shadows thro\\^ ; 
x\nd from its station in the hall 
An ancient timepiece says to all, — 
' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands 
From its case of massive oak, 
Like a monk, who, under his cloak. 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 
' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

By day its voice is low and light ; 
But in the silent dead of night. 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. 
It echoes along the vacant hall, 
Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
And seems to say, at each chamber-door, — 
' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 
75 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 

Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! ' ' 

In that mansion used to be 

Free-hearted Hospitality ; 

His great fires up the chimney roared ; 

The stranger feasted at his board ; 

But, like the skeleton at the feast. 

That warning timepiece never ceased, — 

Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! ' ' 

There groups of merry children played, 

There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; 

O precious hours ! O golden prime. 

And affluence of love and time ! 

Even as a miser counts his gold, 

Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 

Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! ' ' 

From that chamber, clothed in white. 
The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 
76 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 

There, in that silent room below, 
The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
And in the hush that followed the prayer, 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 

Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

All are scattered now^ and fled, 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
' Ah ! when shall they all meet again ? ' ' 
As in the days long since gone by. 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 

Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! ' ' 

Never here, forever there. 
Where all parting, pain, and care. 
And death, and time shall disappear, — 
Forever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 

Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! ' ' 



77 



THE ARROW AND THE SONG 

I SHOT an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air. 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For who has sight so keen and strong. 
That it can follow the flight of song ? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 



78 



CURFEW 



Solemnly, mournfully, 

Dealing its dole, 
The Curfew Bell 

Is beginning to toll. 

Cover the embers, 

And put out the light ; 

Toil comes with the morning. 
And rest with the night. 

Dark grow the windows, 
And quenched is the fire ; 

Sound fades into silence, — 
All footsteps retire. 

No voice in the chambers, 

No sound in the hall ! 
Sleep and oblivion 

Reign over all ! 

n 

The book is completed. 
And closed, like the day ; 

And thelhand that has written it 
Lays it away. 
79 



CURFEW 

Dim grow its fancies ; 

Forgotten they lie ; 
Like coals in the ashes, 

They darken and die. 

Song sinks into silence, 

The story is told, 
The windows are darkened, 

The hearth-stone is cold. 

Darker and darker 

The black shadows fall ; 
Sleep and oblivion 

Reign over all. 



80 



N.\RRATIVE 
POEMS 






.# 
#"^"' 



^D 



EVANGELINE 

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and 
the hemlocks, 

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct 
in the twilight. 

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, 

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their 
bosoms. 

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep- voiced neighbor- 
ing ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the Avail of 
the forest. 

This is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts 
that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the 

voice of the huntsman ? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Aca- 
dian farmers, — 
Men M'hose lives glided on like rivers that water the 
woodlands, 

83 



EVANGELINE 

Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image 

of heaven ? 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers for- 

e^■er departed ! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts 

of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far 

o'er the ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village 

of Grand-Pre. ^ 



Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, 

and is patient. 
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's 

devotion, 
List to the mournful tradition, still sung by the pines of 

the forest ; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 



84 



PART THE FIRST 



In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of 

Minas, 
Distant, seckided, still, the little village of Grand-Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to 

the eastward, 
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks with- 
out number. 
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with 

labor incessant. 
Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the 

flood-gates 
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at w ill o'er 

the meadows. 
West and south there w^ere fields of flax, and orchards 

and cornfields 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away 

to the northward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the 

mountains 
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty 

Atlantic 
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station 

descended. 

85 



EVANGELINE 

There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian 

village. 
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and 

of hemlock. 
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign 

of the Henries. 
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; and 

gables projecting 
Over the basement below protected and shaded the 

doorway. 
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 

brightly the sunset 
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the 

chimneys. 
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in 

kirtles 
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the 

golden 
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles 

within doors 
Mingled their sounds with the whir of the wheels and 

the songs of the maidens. 
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and 

the children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to 

bless them. 
Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose matrons 

and maidens, 



86 



EVANGELINE 

Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate 
welcome. 

Then came the laborers home from the field, and se- 
renely the sun sank 

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from 
the belfry 

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the 
village 

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense as- 
cending. 

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and 
contentment. 

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 
farmers, — 

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they 
free from 

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of 
republics. 

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their 
windo^vs ; 

But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of 
the owners ; 

There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in 
abundance. 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the 
Basin of Minas, 
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand- 
Pre', 

87 



EVANGELINE 

Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his 

household, 
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the 

village. 
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy 

winters ; 
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with 

snow-flakes ; 
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as 

brown as the oak-leaves. 
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen sum- 
mers. 
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn 

by the wayside, 
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown 

shade of her tresses ! 
Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in 

the meadows. 
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at 

noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the 

maiden. 
Fair was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell 

from its turret 
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with 

his hyssop 
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon 

them. 



88 



Homezvard serenely she walked zvith God's befiediction upon her. 
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music 



EVANGELINE 

Do\\n the long street she passed, with her chaplet of 
beads and her missal, 

Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and 
" the ear-rings, 

Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as 
an heirloom. 

Handed down from mother to child, through long gen- 
erations. 

But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — 

Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after 
confession, 

Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction 
upon her. 

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of 
exquisite music. 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the 

farmer 
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and a 

shady 
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing 

around it. 
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and 

a footpath 
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the 

meadow. 
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a 

penthouse, 



89 



EVANGELINE 

Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the road- 
side, 

Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of 
Mary. 

Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with 
its moss-grown 

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the 
horses. 

Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the 
barns and the farm-yard. 

There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique 
ploughs and the harrows ; 

There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his 
feathered seraglio. 

Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with 
the selfsame 

Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. 

Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. 
In each one 

Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a 
staircase. 

Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn- 
loft. 

There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and inno- 
cent inmates 

Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant 
breezes 

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of 
mutation. 

90 



EVANGELINE 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, tlie farmer 

of Grand-Pre 
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his 

household. 
Many a youth, as he knelt in church and opened his 

missal, 
Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest 

devotion ; 
Happy w as he who might touch her hand or the hem 

of her garment ! 
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness be- 
friended, 
And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her 

footsteps, 
Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 

knocker of iron ; 
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village. 
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he 

whispered 
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. 
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only A\as 

welcome ; 
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith. 
Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of 

all men ; 
For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and 

nations, 
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the 

people. 

91 



EVANGELINE 

Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from ear- 
liest childhood 

Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father 
Felician, 

Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught 
them their letters 

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church 
and the plain-song. 

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson 
completed, 

Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the 
blacksmith. 

There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to 
behold him 

Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a play- 
thing. 

Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tire 
of the cart-wheel 

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cin- 
ders. 

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering 
darkness 

Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every 
cranny and crevice, 

Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring 
bellows, 

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the 
ashes. 



92 



EVANGELINE 

Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into 

the chapel. 
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the 

eagle, 
Down the hillside bounding, they glided a\vay o'er the 

meadow. 
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on 

the rafters, 
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which 

the shallow 
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of 

its fledglings ; 
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the 

swallow ! 
Thus passed a few^ swift years, and they no longer were 

children. 
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of 

the morning, 
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought 

into action. 
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a 

woman. 
" Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for that 

was the sunshine 
Which, as the farmers believed, would load their or- 
chards with apples ; 
She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight 

and abundance. 
Filling it with love and the ruddy faces of children. 

93 



EVANGELINE 

II 

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow 
colder and longer, 

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. 

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the 
ice-bound, 

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. 

Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the winds of 
September 

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the 
angel. 

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. 

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their 
honey 

Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters as- 
serted 

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the 
foxes. 

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that 
beautiful season. 

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of 
All-Saints ! 

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; and 
the landscape 

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. 

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart 
of the ocean 

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in har- 
mony blended. 

94 



EVANGELINE 

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the 

farm-yards, 
Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of 

- pigeons. 
All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and 

the great sun 
Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors 

around him ; 
While arra}xd in its robes of russet and scarlet and 

yellow. 
Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree 

of the forest 
Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with 

mantles and jewels. 

Now recommenced the reign of rest and aiFection and 

stillness. 
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twi- 
light descending 
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds 

to the homestead. 
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks 

on each other. 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness 

of evening. 
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful 

heifer. 
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that 

waved from her collar, 
95 



EVANGELINE 

Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affec- 
tion. 

Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks 
from the seaside, 

Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them fol- 
lowed the watch-dog, 

Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of 
his instinct. 

Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and su- 
perbly 

Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the strag- 
glers ; 

Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; their 
protector. 

When from the forest at night, through the starry si- 
lence the wolves howled . 

Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from 
the marshes. 

Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. 

Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes 
and their fetlocks. 

While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponder- 
ous saddles. 

Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of 
crimson. 

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with 
blossoms. 

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their 
udders 

96 



EVANGELINE 

Unto the milkmaid's liand ; whilst loud and in regular 
cadence 

Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets de- 
scended. 

Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the 
farm-yard, 

Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into still- 
ness ; 

Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the 
barn-doors, 

Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was 
silent. 

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly 

the farmer 
Sat in his elbow-chair and watched how the flames and 

the smoke-wreaths 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind 

him. 
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures 

fantastic. 
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into 

darkness. 
Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm- 
chair 
Laughed in the flickering light ; and the pewter plates 

on the dresser 
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the 

sunshine. 

97 



EVANGELINE 

Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of 

Christmas, 
Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before 

him 
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgimdian 

vineyards. 
Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline 

seated. 
Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner 

behind her. 
Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent 

shuttle. 
While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the 

drone of a bagpipe. 
Followed the old man's song and united the fragments 

together. 
As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals 

ceases. 
Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest 

at the altar. 
So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion 

the clock clicked. 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, 
suddenly lifted, 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back 

on its hinges. 
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the 
blacksmith, 

98 



EVANGELINE 

And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was 

with him. 
"Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps 

" paused on the threshold, 
"Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy place on 

the settle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty 

without thee ; 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of 

tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when through the 

curling 
Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial 

face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of 

the marshes." 
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the 

blacksmith. 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fire- 
side : — 
"Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and 

thy ballad ! 
Ever in cheerfuUest mood art thou, when others are 

filled with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before 

them. 
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a 

horseshoe." 



99 



EVANGELINE 

Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline 

brought him, 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly 

continued : — 
' ' Four days now are passed since the English ships at 

their anchors 
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon 

pointed against us. 
What their design may be is unknown ; but all are 

commanded 
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 

Majesty's mandate 
Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the 

mean time 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the peo- 
ple." 
Then made answer the farmer : ' ' Perhaps some friend- 
lier purpose 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests 

in England 
By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted. 
And from our bursting barns they would feed their 

cattle and children." 
' ' Not so thinketh the folk in the village, ' ' said, warmly, 

the blacksmith, 
Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, 

he continued : — 
" Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor 

Port Royal. 

100 



EVANGELINE 

Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its 

outskirts, 
Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to- 
morrow. 
Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons 

of all kinds ; 
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the 

scythe of the mower. ' ' 
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial 

farmer : — 
" Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and 

our cornfields. 
Safer within these peacefuldikes, besieged by the ocean. 
Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's 

cannon. 
Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of 

sorrow 
Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of 

the contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the 

village 
Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the 

glebe round about them. 
Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a 

twelvemonth. 
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and 

inkhorn. 
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our 

children ? ' ' 

101 



EVANGELINE 

As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her 

lover's, 
Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father 

had spoken. 
And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. 

ni 

Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the 
ocean, 

Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary 
public ; 

Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, 
hung 

Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and 
glasses with horn bows 

Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom super- 
nal. 

Father of twenty children was he, and more than a 
hundred 

Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his 
great watch tick. 

Four long years in the times of the war had he lan- 
guished a captive. 

Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of 
the English. 

Now, though warier grown, without all guile or sus- 
picion. 

Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and 
childlike. 

102 



EVANGELINE 

He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; 
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, 
And of the goblin that came in the night to water the 

horses. 
And of the w hite Letiche, the ghost of a child who un- 

christened 
Died, and A\'as doomed to haunt unseen the chambers 

of children ; 
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable. 
And how the fever ^vas cured by a spider shut up in a 

nutshell. 
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and 

horseshoes. 
With n hatsoever else was writ in the lore of the vil- 
lage. 
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the 

blacksmith. 
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slow ly extending 

his right hand, 
" Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard 

the talk in the village, 
And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships 

and their errand." 
Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary 

public, — 
" Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never 

the wiser ; 
And what their errand may be I know not better than 

others. 

103 



EVANGELINE 

Yet am I not of those w ho imagine some evil intention 
Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then 

molest us ? " 
God's name ! ' ' shouted the hasty and somewhat iras- 
cible blacksmith ; 
" Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, 

and the wherefore ? 
Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the 

strongest ! " 
But without heeding his warmth, continued the notary 

public, — 
" Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice 
Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often 

consoled me. 
When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port 

Royal." 
This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to 

repeat it 
When his neighbors complained that any injustice was 

done them. 
" Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer 

remember. 
Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 
Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its 

left hand. 
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice pre- 
sided 
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of 

the people. 

104 



EVANGELINE 

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the 
balance, 

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine 
above them. 

But in the course of time the laws of the land were 
corrupted ; 

Might took the place of right, and the weak were op- 
pressed, and the mighty 

Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a noble- 
man's palace 

That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a sus- 
picion 

Fell on an orphan girl who lived as a maid in the 
household. 

She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaf- 
fold, 

Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of 
Justice. 

As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 

Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the 
thunder 

Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its 
left hand 

Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the 
balance. 

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a 
magpie, 

Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was 
in^^■oven , ' ' 

105 



EVANGELINE 

Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, 

the blacksmith 
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no 

language ; 
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, 

as the vapors 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the 

winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table. 
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home- 
brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the 

village of Grand-Pre ; 
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and 

inkhorn, 
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the 

parties. 
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and 

in cattle. 
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were 

completed, 
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the 

margin. 
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the 

table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; 
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the 

bridegroom, 

106 



EVANGELINE 

Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their wel- 
fare. 

Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and 
departed, 

While in silence the others sat and mused by the fire- 
side, 

Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its 
corner. 

Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the 
old men 

Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre. 

Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was 
made in the king-row. 

Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's 
embrasure. 

Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the 
moon rise 

Over the pallid sea, and the silvery mists of the 
meadows. 

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, 

Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the 
angels. 

Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from 
the belfry 
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and 

straightway 
Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in 
the household. 

107 



EVANGELINE 

Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the 
door-step 

Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with 
gladness. 

Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on 
the hearth-stone, 

And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the 
farmer. 

Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline fol- 
lowed. 

Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the dark- 
ness. 

Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the 
maiden. 

Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her 
chamber. 

Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, 
and its clothes-press 

Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were care- 
fully folded 

Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline 
woven. 

This was the precious dower she would bring to her 
husband in marriage. 

Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill 
as a housewife. 

Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and 
radiant moonlight 



108 



EVANGELINE 

Streamed through the \\indows, and lighted the room, 

till the heart of the maiden 
Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides 

" of the ocean. 
Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood 

with 
Naked snoAV-white feet on the gleaming floor of her 

chamber ! 
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the 

orchard, 
Waited her lo\ er and watched for the gleam of her lamp 

and her shadow. 
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of 

sadness 
Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in 

the moonlight 
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a 

moment. 
And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely 

the moon pass 
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her 

footsteps. 
As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with 

Hagar ! 

rv 

Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of 

Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of 

Minas, 

109 



EVANGELINE 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were 
riding at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous 
labor 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of 
the morning. 

Now from the country around, from the farms and 
neighboring hamlets. 

Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peas- 
ants. 

Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the 
young folk 

Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous 
meadows. 

Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in 
the greensward, 

Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on 
the highway. 

Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were 
silenced. 

Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy 
groups at the house-doors 

Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped to- 
gether. 

Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and 
feasted; 

For with this simple people, who lived like brothers to- 
gether. 



no 



EVANGELINE 

All things were held in common, and what one had was 

another's. 
Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more 

' abundant : 
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father ; 
Bria:ht \\as her face with smiles, and words of welcome 

and gladness 
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she 

gave it. 

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, 

Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of be- 
trothal. 

There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the 
notary seated ; 

There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the black- 
smith. 

Not far A\-ithdrawn from these, by the cider-press and 
the beehives, 

Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts 
and of waistcoats. 

Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on 
his snow-white 

Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of the 
fiddler 

Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown 
from the embers. 

Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his 
fiddle, 

111 



EVANGELINE 

Tons It's Ihitrgeois de C/iartrcs, and Le Carillon dc Dini- 
qiwnptt^ 

And anon with his wooden slioes beat time to the mnsie. 

Merrily, merrily \\ hirled the wheels of the dizzying 
dances 

Under the orchard-trees and down the jxitli to the 
meado\\ s ; 

Old folk and young together, and children mingled 
among them. 

Fairest of all the maids m as E\'angeline, Benedict's 
daughter! 

Noblest of all the youths m as Gabriel, son of the black- 
smith ! 

So passed the morning away. And lo! m ith a sum- 
mons sonorous 
Soimded the bell from its tower, and o^•er the meado\\s 

a drum beat. 
Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, 

in the churchyard, 
Waited the ^\•omen. They stood b}- the graves, and 

hung on the headstones 
Garlands of autumn-lea^■es and evergreens fresh from 

the forest. 
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching 

proudly among them 
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant 

clangor 



112 



EVANGELINE 

Echoed the sound of dieir brazen drums from ceiling 

and casement, — 
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous 

portal 
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the 

soldiers. 
Then uprose their commander, and spake from the 

steps of the altar. 
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal 

commission. 
" You are convened this day," he said, " by his Ma- 
jesty's orders. 
Clement and kind has he been ; but hovv^ you have 

answered his kindness, 
Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and 

my temper 
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be 

grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our 

monarch ; 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle 

of all kinds 
Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from 

this province 
Be transported toother lands. God grant you may dwell 

there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! 
Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his Majesty's 

pleasure ! " 

113 



EVANGELINE 

As, when the air is serene in sultry solstice of summer, 
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the 

hailstones 
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters 

his windows, 
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch 

from the house-roofs. 
Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclo- 
sures ; 
So on the hearts of the people descended the words of 

the speaker. 
Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and 

then rose 
Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 
And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the 

door-way. 
Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce im- 
precations 
Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the 

heads of the others 
Rose, M ith his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the 

blacksmith. 
As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 
Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and 

wildly he shouted, — 
' ' Down with the tyrants of England ! we never have 

sworn them allegiance ! 
Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes 

and our harvests ! ' ' 
114 



EVANGELINE 

More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand 

of a soldier 
Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to 

the pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry con- 
tention, 

Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician 

Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of 
the altar. 

Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into 
silence 

All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his 
people ; 

Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured 
and mournful 

Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the 
clock strikes. 

" What is this that ye do, my children? what madness 
has seized you ? 

Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and 
taught you. 

Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! 

Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers 
and privations ? 

Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and for- 
giveness ? 

This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you 
profane it 

115 



EVANGELINE 

Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with 

hatred? 
Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing 

upon you ! 
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy 

compassion ! 
Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ' O Father, 

forgive them ! ' 
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked 

assail us. 
Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive 

them!'" 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of 

his people 
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the pas- 
sionate outbreak, 
While they repeated his prayer, and said, ' ' O Father, 

forgive them ! " 

Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed 

from the altar. 
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the 

people responded. 
Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave 

Maria 
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with 

devotion translated, 
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to 

heaven. 

116 



EVANGELINE 

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of 

ill, and on all sides 
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women 

and children. 
Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her 

right hand 
Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, 

descending, 
Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and 

roofed each 
Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned 

its windows. 
Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on 

the table ; 
There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant 

with wild-flowers ; 
There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh 

brought from the dairy. 
And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of 

the farmer. 
Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the 

sunset 
Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambro- 
sial meadows. 
Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, 
And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial 

ascended, — 
Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, 

and patience ! 

117 



EVANGELINE 

Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village. 

Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of 
the women, 

As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they 
departed. 

Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of 
their children. 

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmer- 
ing vapors 

Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending 
from Sinai. 

Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. 

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evange- 
line lingered. 
All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the 

windows 
Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome by 

emotion, 
"Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; but 

no answer 
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier 

grave of the living. 
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of 

her father. 
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was the 

supper untasted. 
Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with 

phantoms of terror. 

118 



EVANGELINE 

Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her 
chamber. 

In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate rain 
fall 

Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by 
the window. 

Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the echo- 
ing thunder 

Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the 
world he created ! 

Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the 
justice of Heaven ; 

Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slum- 
bered till morning. 

V 

Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the 
fifth day 

Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the 
farm-house. 

Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful pro- 
cession, 

Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Aca- 
dian women. 

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to 
the sea-shore. 

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their 
dwellings, 



119 



EVANGELINE 

Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and 

the woodland. 
Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the 

oxen, 
While in their little hands they clasped some fragments 

of playthings. 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and 

there on the sea-beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the 

peasants. 
All day long between the shore and the ships did the 

boats ply ; 
All day long the wains came laboring down from the 

village. 
Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his 

setting. 
Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from 

the churchyard. 
Thither the women and children thronged. On a sud- 
den the church-doors 
Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in 

gloomy procession 
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian 

farmers. 
Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes 

and their country, 
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary 

and wayworn, 

120 



EVANGELINE 

So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants de- 
scended 

Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives 
and their daughters. 

Foremost the young men came ; and, raising together 
their voices, 

Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Mis- 
sions : — 

"Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible foun- 
tain ! 

Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission 
and patience ! ' ' 

Then the old men, as they marched, and the women 
that stood by the wayside 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sun- 
shine above them 

Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits de- 
parted. 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in 
silence. 

Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of 
affliction, — 

Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession ap- 
proached her. 

And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emo- 
tion. 

Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet 
him, 

121 



EVANGELINE 

Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoul- 
der, and whispered, — 

' ' Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one an- 
other 

Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances 
may happen ! ' ' 

Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, 
for her father 

Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was 
his aspect ! 

Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his 
eye, and his footstep 

Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in 
his bosom. 

But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and 
embraced him, 

Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort 
availed not. 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mourn- 
ful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of 

embarking. 
Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 
Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too 

late, saw their children 
Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest 

entreaties. 
So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 

122 



EVANGELINE 

While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with 

her father. 
Half the task \vas not done when the sun went down, 

■ and the twilight 
Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the 

refluent ocean 
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand- 
beach 
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slip- 
pery sea-M'eed. 
Farther back in the midst of the household goods and 

the wagons. 
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle. 
All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near 

them. 
Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian 

farmers. 
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing 

ocean, 
Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and 

leaving 
Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the 

sailors. 
Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from 

their pastures ; 
S^veet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from 

their udders ; 
Lowing they \\'aited, and long, at the well-known bars 

of the farm-yard, — 
123 



EVANGELINE 

Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand 

of the milk-maid. 
Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no 

Angelus sounded, 
Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights 

from the windows. 

But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had 

been kindled, 
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks 

in the tempest. 
Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were 

gathered. 
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the 

crying of children. 
Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his 

parish. 
Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing 

and cheering. 
Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea- 
shore. 
Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat 

with her father. 
And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old 

man. 
Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either 

thought or emotion, 
E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have 

been taken. 

124 



EVANGELINE 

Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to 
cheer him, 

Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked 
not, he spake not, 

But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering 
fire-light. 

*" *" Bejiedicite ! '' '' murmured the priest, in tones of com- 
passion. 

More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, 
and his accents 

Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on 
a threshold. 

Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful pre- 
sence of sorrow. 

Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the 
maiden. 

Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above 
them 

Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and 
sorrows of mortals. 

Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together 
in silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn 

the blood-red 
Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the 

horizon 
Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain 

and meado\v, 

125 



EVANGELINE 

Seizing the rocks and the rivers and piling huge 

shadows together. 
Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the 

village, 
Gleamed on the sky and sea, and the ships that lay in 

the roadstead. 
Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame 

were 
Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the 

quivering hands of a martyr. 
Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning 

thatch, and, uplifting, 
Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a 

hundred house-tops 
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame inter- 
mingled. 

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the 
shore and on shipboard. 

Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their 
anguish, 

' ' We shall behold no more our homes in the village of 
Grand-Pre!'' 

Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm- 
yards. 

Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowing 
of catde 

Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs 
interrupted. 

126 



EVANGELINE 

Then rose a sound of dread, such as stardes the sleep- 
ing encampments 

Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the 
Nebraska, 

When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the 
speed of the whirlwind, 

Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the 
river. 

Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the 
herds and the horses 

Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed 
o'er the meadows. 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the 
priest and the maiden 

Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened 
before them ; 

And as they turned at length to speak to their silent 
companion, 

Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad 
on the sea-shore 

Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had de- 
parted. 

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the 
maiden 

Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her ter- 
ror. 

Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his 
bosom. 

127 



EVANGELINE 

Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 
slumber ; 

And when she awoke from the trance, she beheld a 
multitude near her. 

Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gaz- 
ing upon her, 

Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest com- 
passion. 

Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the land- 
scape. 

Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces 
around her, 

And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering 
senses. 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the 
people, — 

"Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier 
season 

Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land 
of our exile, 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the church- 
yard." 

Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste 
by the sea-side. 

Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 
torches. 

But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of 
Grand-Pre. 



128 



EVANGELINE 

And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of 

sorrow, 
Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast 

congregation, 
Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with 

the dirges. 
'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of 

the ocean, 
With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and 

hurrying landward. 
Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of 

embarking ; 
And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the 

harbor. 
Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the 

village in ruins. 



129 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA 

HIAWATHA'S SAILING 

Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree ! 
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree ! 
Growing by the rushing river, 
Tall and stately in the valley ! 
I a light canoe will build me. 
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing. 
That shall float upon the river. 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily ! 

" Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree ! 
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, 
For the Summer-time is coming, 
And the sun is warm in heaven, 
And you need no white-skin wrapper ! ' ' 

Thus aloud cried Hiawatha 
In the solitary forest. 
By the rushing Taquamenaw, 
When the birds were singing gayly, 
In the Moon of Leaves were singing. 
And the sun, from sleep awaking. 
Started up and said, " Behold me ! 
Geezis, the great Sun, behold me ! " 

And the tree with all its branches 
Rustled in the breeze of morning, 
130 



HIAWATHA 

Saying, with a sigh of patience, 
" Take my cloak, O Hiawatha ! " 

With his knife the tree he girdled ; 

■ Just beneath its lowest branches, 

Just above the roots, he cut it. 

Till the sap came oozing outward ; 

Down the trunk, from top to bottom. 

Sheer he cleft the bark asunder. 

With a wooden wedge he raised it. 

Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. 
" Give me of your boughs, O Cedar ! 

Of your strong and pliant branches. 

My canoe to make more steady, 
. Make more strong and firm beneath me ! " 
Through the summit of the Cedar 

Went a sound, a cry of horror, 

Went a murmur of resistance ; 

But it whispered, bending downward, 
*' Take my boughs, O Hiawatha ! " 

Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, 

Shaped them straightway to a frame- work. 

Like two bows he formed and shaped them. 

Like two bended bows together. 

' ' Give me of your roots, O Tamarack ! 

Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree ! 

My canoe to bind together. 

So to bind the ends together 

That the water may not enter. 

That the river may not wet me ! " 
131 



HIAWATHA 

And the Larch, with all its fibres, 
Shivered in the air of morning. 
Touched his forehead with its tassels, 
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, 
" Take them all, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the earth he tore the fibres. 
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree, 
Closely sewed the bark together. 
Bound it closely to the frame- work. 

" Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree ! 
Of your balsam and your resin, 
So to close the seams together 
That the water may not enter. 
That the river may not wet me ! " ' 

And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre. 
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness. 
Rattled like a shore with pebbles. 
Answered wailing, answered weeping, 
*' Take my balm, O Hiawatha ! " 

And he took the tears of balsam. 
Took the resin of the Fir-tree, 
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, 
Made each crevice safe from water. 

" Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog ! 
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog ! 
. I will make a necklace of them. 
Make a girdle for my beauty, 
And two stars to deck her bosom ! " 

From a hollow tree the Hedgehog 
132 



HIAWATHA 

With his sleepy eyes looked at him, 
Shot his shining quills, like arrows, 
Saying with a drowsy murmur, 
Through the tangle of his whiskers. 
Take my quills, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the ground the quills he gathered. 
All the little shining arrows, 
Stained them red and blue and yellow. 
With the juice of roots and berries ; 
Into his canoe he wrought them. 
Round its waist a shining girdle. 
Round its bows a gleaming necklace. 
On its breast two stars resplendent. 

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded 
In the valley, by the river. 
In the bosom of the forest ; 
And the forest's life was in it. 
All its mystery and its magic. 
All the lightness of the birch-tree. 
All the toughness of the cedar. 
All the larch's supple sinews ; 
And it floated on the river 
Like a yellow leaf in Auturhn, 
Like a yellow water-lily. 

Paddles none had Hiawatha, 
Paddles none he had or needed, 
For his thoughts as paddles served him. 
And his wishes served to guide him ; 
owift or slow at will he glided, 
133 



HIAWATHA 

Veered to right or left at pleasure. 

Then he called aloud to Kwasind, 
To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, 
Saying, ' ' Help me clear this river 
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars." 

Straight into the river Kwasind 
Plunged as if he were an otter, 
Dived as if he were a beaver, 
Stood up to his waist in water. 
To his arm-pits in the river, 
Swam and shouted in the river, 
Tugged at sunken logs and branches, 
With his hands he scooped the sand-bars, 
With his feet the ooze and tangle. 

And thus sailed my Hiawatha 
Down the rushing Taquamenaw, 
Sailed through all its bends and windings. 
Sailed through all its deeps and shallows, 
While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, 
Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. 

Up and down the river went they. 
In and out among its islands, 
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar. 
Dragged the dead trees from its channel. 
Made its passage safe and certain. 
Made a pathway for the people, 
From its springs among the mountains, 
To the waters of Pauwating, 
To the bay of Taquamenau . 
134 



HIAWATHA 



HIAWATHA'S FISHING 

Forth upon the Gitchie Gumee, 
On the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
With his fishing-line of cedar, 
Of the twisted bark of cedar, 
Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, 
Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, 
In his birch canoe exulting 
All alone went Hiawatha. 

Through the clear, transparent water 
He could see the fishes swimming 
Far down in the depths below him ; 
See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water. 
See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, 
Like a spider on the bottom. 
On the white and sandy bottom. 

At the stern sat Hiawatha, 
With his fishing-line of cedar ; 
In his plumes the breeze of morning 
Played as in the hemlock branches ; 
On the bows, with tail erected. 
Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo ; 
In his fur the breeze of morning 
Played as in the prairie grasses. 

135 



HIAWATHA 

On the white sand of the bottom 
Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, 
Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes ; 
Through his gills he breathed the water, 
With his fins he fanned and winnowed, 
With his tail he swept the sand-floor. 

There he lay in all his armor; 
On each side a shield to guard him, 
Plates of bone upon his forehead, 
Down his sides and back and shoulders 
Plates of bone with spines projecting ! 
Painted was he with his war-paints, 
Stripes of yellow, red, and azure. 
Spots of brown and spots of sable ; 
And he lay there on the bottom, 
Fanning with his fins of purple, 
As above him Hiawatha 
Li his birch canoe came sailing. 
With his fishing-line of cedar. 

"Take my bait," cried Hiawatha, 
Down into the depths beneath him, 
'Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma! 
Come up from below the water. 
Let us see which is the stronger ! " 
And he dropped his line of cedar 
Through the clear, transparent water, 
Waited vainly for an answer. 
Long sat waiting for an answer. 
And repeating loud and louder, 
136 



And he dropped his line of cedar 
Through the clear, transparent water 





i/-. 

k 




HIAWATHA 

• Take my bait, O King of Fishes ! ' ' 
Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Fanning slowly in the water, 
Looking up at Hiawatha, 
Listening to his call and clamor. 
His unnecessary tumult. 
Till he wearied of the shouting ; 
And he said to the Kenozha, 
To the pike, the Maskenozha, 

' Take the bait of this rude fellow, 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! " 

In his fingers Hiawatha 
Felt the loose line jerk and tighten ; 
As he drew it in, it tugged so 
That the birch canoe stood endwise, 
Like a birch log in the water. 
With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Perched and frisking on the summit. 

Full of scorn was Hiawatha 
When he saw the fish rise upward. 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Coming nearer, nearer to him, 
And he shouted through the water, 

' ' Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are but the pike, Kenozha, 
You are not the fish I wanted. 
You are not the King of Fishes ! " 

Reeling downward to the bottom 
Sank the pike in great confusion, 
137 



HIAWATHA 

And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, 
Said to UgLidwash, the sun-fish, 
To the bream, with scales of crimson, 

' ' Take the bait of this great boaster. 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! ' ' 

Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming. 
Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
Seized the fine of Hiawatha, 
Swung with all his weight upon it, 
Made a whirlpool in the water. 
Whirled the birch canoe in circles. 
Round and round in gurgling eddies, 
Till the circles in the water 
Reached the far-off" sandy beaches, 
Till the water-flags and rushes 
Nodded on the distant margins. 
But when Hiawatha saw him 
Slowly rising through the water, 
Lifting up his disk refulgent. 
Loud he shouted in derision, 

' ' Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish. 
You are not the fish I wanted, 
You are not the King of Fishes ! ' ' 

Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming. 
Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish. 
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Heard the shout of Hiawatha, 
Heard his challenge of defiance, 
138 



HIAWATHA 

The unnecessary tumult, 
Ringing far across the water. 

From the white sand of the bottom 
Up he rose with angry gesture, 
Quivering in each nerve and fibre, 
Clashing all his plates of armor, 
Gleaming bright with all his \v ar-paint ; 
In his wrath he darted upward. 
Flashing leaped into the sunshine, 
Opened his great jaws, and swallowed 
Both canoe and Hiawatha. 

Down into that darksome cavern 
Plunged the headlong Hia\\'atha, 
As a log on some black river 
Shoots and plunges down the rapids. 
Found himself in utter darkness, 
Groped about in helpless wonder. 
Till he felt a great heart beating, 
Throbbing in that utter darkness. 

And he smote it in his anger. 
With his fist, the heart of Nahma. 
Felt the mighty King of Fishes 
Shudder through each nerve and fibre. 
Heard the water gurgle round him 
As he leaped and staggered through it. 
Sick at heart, and faint and weary. 

Crosswise then did HiaAvatha 
Drag his birch-canoe for safety. 
Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, 
139 



HIAWATHA 

In the turmoil and confusion, 
Forth he might be hurled and perish. 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Frisked and chattered very gayly, 
Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha 
Till the labor was completed. 

Then said Hiawatha to him, 
■ O my little friend, the squirrel. 
Bravely have you toiled to help me ; 
Take the thanks of Hiawatha, 
And the name which now he gives you ; 
For hereafter and forever 
Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, 
Tail-in-air the boys shall call you ! ' ' 

And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Gasped and quivered in the water, 
Then was still, and drifted landward 
Till he grated on the pebbles, 
Till the listening Hiawatha 
Heard him grate upon the margin, 
Felt him strand upon the pebbles. 
Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, 
Lay there dead upon the margin. 

Then he heard a clang and flapping. 
As of many wings assembling, 
Heard a screaming and confusion. 
As of birds of prey contending, 
Saw a gleam of light above him. 
Shining through the ribs of Nahma, 
140 



HIAWATHA 

Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, 
Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering. 
Gazing at him through the opening, 
Heard them saying to each other, 
*" T is our brother, Hiawatha ! " 

And he shouted from below them. 
Cried exulting from the caverns : 
" O ye sea-gulls ! O my brothers ! 
I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma ; 
Make the rifts a little larger. 
With your claws the openings widen. 
Set me free from this dark prison. 
And henceforward and forever 
Men shall speak of your achievements. 
Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls. 
Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers ! " 
And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls 
Toiled with beak and claws together. 
Made the rifts and openings wider 
In the mighty ribs of Nahma, 
And from peril and from prison, 
From the body of the sturgeon. 
From the peril of the water. 
They released my Hiawatha. 

He was standing near his wigwam. 
On the margin of the water, 
And he called to old Nokomis, 
Called and beckoned to Nokomis, 
Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, 

141 



HIAWATHA 

Lying lifeless on the pebbles, 
With the sea-gulls feeding on him. 
"I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, 
Slain the King of Fishes ! ' ' said he ; 
■'Look ! the sea-gulls feed upon him, 
Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls ; 
Drive them not away, Nokomis, 
They have saved me from great peril 
In the body of the sturgeon, 
Wait until their meal is ended. 
Till their craws are full with feasting, 
Till they homeward fly, at sunset. 
To their nests among the marshes ; 
Then bring all your pots and kettles, 
And make oil for us in Winter." 

And she waited till the sun set. 
Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun, 
Rose above the tranquil water, 
Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls. 
From their banquet rose with clamor. 
And across the fiery sunset 
Winged their way to far-off islands. 
To their nests among the rushes. 

To his sleep went Hiawatha, 
And Nokomis to her labor. 
Toiling patient in the moonlight. 
Till the sun and moon changed places, 
Till the sky was red with sunrise, 
And Kavoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, 
142 



HIAWATHA 

Came back from the reedy islands, 
Clamorous for their morning banquet. 

Three whole days and nights alternate 
-Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls 
Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, 
Till the waves washed through the rib-bones, 
Till the sea-gulls came no longer, 
And upon the sands lay nothing 
But the skeleton of Nahma. 



143 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER 

Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from 
the meadows, 

There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village 
of Plymouth ; 

Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order impera- 
tive, "Forward! " 

Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then 
silence. 

Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the vil- 
lage. 

Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous 
army. 

Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the 
white men, 

Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the 
savage. 

Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of 
King David ; 

Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the 
Bible, — 

Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Phi- 
listines. 

144 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morn- 
ing; 

Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, 
■advancing, 

Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 

Many a mile had they marched, when at length the 
village of Plymouth 

Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold 
labors. 

Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke from 
the chimneys 

Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily east- 
ward ; 

Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked 
of the weather. 

Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair 
for the Mayflower ; 

Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers 
that menaced. 

He being gone, the town, and what should be done in 
his absence. 

Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women 

Consecrated Avith hymns the common cares of the 
household. 

Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at 
his coming ; 

Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the moun- 
tains ; 

145 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at 
anchor, 

Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of 
the winter. 

Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping 
her canvas, 

Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the 
sailors. 

Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, 

Darted a pufl" of smoke, and floated seaward ; anon 
rang 

Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the 
echoes 

Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of depar- 
ture ! 

Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the 
people ! 

Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from 
the Bible, 

Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent 
entreaty ! 

Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pil- 
grims of Plymouth, 

Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the 
sea-shore. 

Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the May- 
flower, 

Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here 
in the desert. 

146 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had 

lain without slumber, 
Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his 

fever. 
He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from 

the council, 
Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and 

murmur ; 
Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes itsounded 

like swearing. 
Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment 

in silence ; 
Then he had turned away, and said : " I will not awake 

him ; 
Let him sleep on, it is best ; for what is the use of more 

talking ! " 
Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself down 

on his pallet. 
Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the 

morning, — 
Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his cam- 
paigns in Flanders, — 
Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for action. 
But with the dawn he arose ; in the twilight Alden 

beheld him 
Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his armor. 
Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, 
Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of 

the chamber. 

147 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned 

to embrace him, 
Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for par- 
don ; 
All the old friendship came back, with its tender and 

grateful emotions ; 
But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within 

him, — 
Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning fire 

of the insult. 
So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not, 
Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and he 

spake not ! 
Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the people 

were saying, 
Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard 

and Gilbert, 
Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of 

Scripture, 
And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to 

the sea-shore, 
Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet 

as a doorstep 
Into a world unknown, — the corner-stone of a nation ! 

There with his boat was the Master, already a little 
impatient 
Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to 
the eastward, 

148 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean 
about him. 

Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters 
and parcels 

Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled to- 
gether 

Into his narrow^ brain, till at last he was wholly bewil- 
dered. 

Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on 
the gunwale. 

One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the 
sailors. 

Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for 
starting. 

He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his 
anguish. 

Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is 
or canvas, 

Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise 
and pursue him. 

But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of 
Priscilla 

Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that 
was passing. 

Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his in- 
tention, 

Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and 
patient, 



149 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its 
purpose, 

As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is de- 
struction. 

Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious 
instincts ! 

Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are mo- 
ments, 

Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall 
adamantine ! 

" Here I remain ! " he exclaimed, as he looked at the 
heavens above him. 

Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist 
and the madness. 

Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering 
headlong. 

"Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether 
above me. 

Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over 
the ocean. 

There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost- 
like. 

Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for 
protection. 

Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the 
ether ! 

Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me ; I 
heed not 

Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil ! 

150 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so \\hole- 

some, 
As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by 

■ her footsteps. 
Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible pre- 
sence 
Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her 

weakness ; 
Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock 

at the landing. 
So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the 

leaving ! ' ' 

Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air 
and important, 

Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and 
the weather. 

Walked about on the sands, and the people cro^^-ded 
around him 

Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful re- 
membrance. 

Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping 
a tiller, 

Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his 

vessel. 
Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and 

flurry. 
Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and 

sorrow, 

151 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but 

Gospel ! 
Lost in the sound of the oars was the last fa:rewell of 

the Pilgrims. 
O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the 

Mayflower ! 
No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this 

ploughing ! 

Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of 

the sailors 
Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponder- 
ous anchor. 
Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the 

west- wind, 
Blowing steady and strong ; and the Mayflower sailed 

from the harbor. 
Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the 

southward 
Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First 

Encounter, 
Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open 

Atlantic, 
Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts 

of the Pilgrims. 

Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the 
vessel, 
Much endeared to them all, as something living and 
human ; 

152 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Then, as if filled ^vith the spirit, and wrapt in a vision 

prophetic, 
Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 
Said, "Let us pray ! " and they prayed, and thanked 

the Lord and took courage. 
Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, 

and above them 
Bo\\ed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, 

and their kindred 
Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the 

prayer that they uttered. 
Sun-illumined and ^^ hite, on the eastern verge of the 

ocean 
Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a 

graveyard ; 
Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. 
Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an 

Indian, 
Watching them from the hill ; but while they spake 

with each other, 
Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, " Look ! " 

he had vanished. 
So they returned to their homes ; but Alden lingered a 

little. 
Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of 

the billows 
Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash 

of the sunshine. 
Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. 

153 





0t 







■l^ 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE 







:LZ.Jii__k 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 



' Build me straight, O worthy Master ! 
Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
That shall laugh at all disaster. 

And with A\ave and whirlwind wrestle ! ' ' 

The merchant's \\ ord 
Delighted the Master heard ; 
For his heart was in his work, and the heart 
Giveth grace unto ever\' Art. 
A quiet smile plaj^ed round his lijDs, 
As the eddies and dimples of the tide 
Play round the bows of ships, 
That steadily at anchor ride. 
And \\ith a voice that ^\■as full of glee. 
He answered, " Erelong ^ve A\ill launch 
A A'essel as goodly, and strong, and stanch, 
As e\er weathered a wintr}' sea ! " 
And first w ith nicest skill and art. 
Perfect and finislied in e\erv part, 
L)7 




THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

A little model the Master AATOught, 

\\^hich should be to the larger plan 

What the child is to the man, 

Its counterpart in miniature ; 

That with a hand more swift and sure 

The greater labor might be brought 

To answer to his inward thought. 

And as he labored, his mind ran o'er 

The various ships that were built of yore. 

And above them all, and strangest of all 

Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall, 

Whose picture was hanging on the wall. 

With bows and stern raised high in air, 

And balconies hanging here and there. 

And signal lanterns and flags afloat. 

And eight round towers, like those that frown 

From some old castle, looking down 

Upon the drawbridge and the moat. 

And he said with a smile, "Our ship, I wis. 

Shall be of another form than this ! ' ' 

It was of another form, indeed ; 

Built for freight, and yet for speed, 

A beautiful and gallant craft ; 

Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, 

Pressing down upon sail and mast. 

Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ; 

Broad in the beam, but sloping aft 

With graceful curve and slow degrees. 

That she might be docile to the helm, 

158 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

And that the currents of parted seas, 
Closing behind, with mighty force. 
Might aid and not impede her course. 

In the ship-yard stood the Master, 
With the model of the vessel, 
That should laugh at all disaster, 
And ^vith \\ ave and whirlwind wrestle ! 

Covering many a rood of ground. 

Lay the timber piled around ; 

Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, 

And scattered here and there, with these. 

The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; 

Brought from regions far away. 

From Pascagoula's sunny bay, 

And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! 

Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is 

To note how many wheels of toil 

One thought, one word, can set in motion ! 

There 's not a ship that sails the ocean. 

But every climate, every soil. 

Must bring its tribute, great or small. 

And help to build the wooden ^vall ! 

The sun was rising o'er the sea. 
And long the level shadows lay. 
As if they, too, the beams would be 
Of some great, airy argosy, 
159 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Framed and launched in a single day. 
That silent architect, the sun, 
Had hewn and laid them every one. 
Ere the work of man was yet begun. 
Beside the Master, when he spoke, 
A youth, against an anchor leaning. 
Listened, to catch his slightest meaning. 
Only the long waves, as they broke 
In ripples on the pebbly beach, 
Interrupted the old man's speech. 

Beautiful they were, in sooth, 

The old man and the fiery youth ! 

The old man, in whose busy brain 

Many a ship that sailed the main 

Was modelled o'er and o'er again ; — 

The fiery youth, ^^ ho was to be 

The heir of his dexterity, 

The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand. 

When he had built and launched from land 

What the elder head had planned. 

" Thus," said he, " will we build this ship ! 
Lay square the blocks upon the slip. 
And follow well this plan of mine. 
Choose the timbers with greatest care ; 
Of all that is unsound beware ; 
For only what is sound and strong 
To this vessel shall belong. 
160 



The SU71 shone on her golden hair. 

And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 

Here together shall combine. 

A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, 

And the Union be her name ! 

For the day that gives her to the sea 

Shall give my daughter unto thee ! " 

The Master's word 

Enraptured the young man heard ; 

And as he turned his face aside, 

With a look of joy and a thrill of pride. 

Standing before 

Her father's door. 

He saw the form of his promised bride. 

The sun shone on her golden hair, 

And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair. 

With the breath of morn and the soft sea air. 

Like a beauteous barge was she, 

Still at rest on the sandy beach, 

Just beyond the billow's reach ; 

But he 

Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! 

Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
That obeyeth Love's command ! 
It is the heart, and not the brain. 
That to the highest doth attain. 
And he who followeth Love's behest 
Far excelleth all the rest ! 
161 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Thus with the rising of the sun 

Was the noble task begun, 

And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds 

Were heard the intermingled sounds 

Of axes and of mallets, j)lied 

With vigorous arms on every side ; 

Plied so deftly and so well, 

That, ere the shadows of evening fell, 

The keel of oak for a noble ship. 

Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, 

Was lying ready, and stretched along 

The blocks, well placed upon the slip. 

Happy, thrice happy, every one 

Who sees his labor well begun, 

And not perplexed and multiplied, 

By idly waiting for time and tide ! 

And when the hot, long day was o'er. 
The young man at the Master's door 
Sat with the maiden calm and still, 
And within the porch, a little more 
Removed beyond the evening chill. 
The father sat, and told them tales 
Of wrecks in the great September gales, 
Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main, 
And ships that never came back again. 
The chance and change of a sailor's life, 
Want and plenty, rest and strife. 
His roving fancy, like the wind, 
162 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, 
And the nuigic cliarm of foreign lands, 
With shadows of palms, and shining sands, 
Where the tumbling surf, 
O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, 
Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 
As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. 
And the trembling maiden held her breath 
At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea. 
With all its terror and mystery, 
The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, 
That divides and yet unites mankind ! 
And whenever the old man paused, a gleam 
From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume 
The silent group in the twilight gloom. 
And thoughtful faces, as in a dream ; 
And for a moment one might mark 
What had been hidden by the dark, 
That the head of the maiden lay at rest. 
Tenderly, on the young man's breast ! 

Day by day the vessel grew. 
With timbers fashioned strong and true, 
Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee. 
Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 
A skeleton ship rose up to view ! 
And around the bows and along the side 
The heavy hammers and mallets plied. 
Till after many a week, at length, 
163 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Wonderful for form and strength, 

Sublime in its enormous bulk, 

Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! 

And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing, 

Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething 

Caldron, that glowed, 

And overflowed 

With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. 

And amid the clamors 

Of clattering hammers, 

He who listened heard now and then 

The song of the Master and his men : — 

Build me straight, O worthy Master, 
Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 

That shall laugh at all disaster, 

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! ' ' 

With oaken brace and copper band, 
Lay the rudder on the sand, 
That, like a thought, should have control 
Over the movement of the whole ; 
And near it the anchor, whose giant hand 
Would reach down and grapple with the land. 
And immovable and fast 

Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast ! 
And at the bows an image stood. 
By a cunning artist carved in wood. 
With robes of white, that far behind 
164 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. 

It was not shaped in a classic mould, 

Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old, 

Or Naiad rising from the water, 

But modelled from the Master's daughter ! 

On many a dreary and misty night, 

'T will be seen by the rays of the signal light, 

Speeding along through the rain and the dark, 

Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, 

The pilot of some phantom bark. 

Guiding the vessel, in its flight, 

By a path none other knows aright ! 

Behold, at last. 
Each tall and tapering mast 
Is swung into its place ; 
Shrouds and stays 
Holding it firm and fast ! 

Long ago. 

In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 
When upon mountain and plain 
Lay the snow. 

They fell, — those lordly pines ! 
Those grand, majestic pines ! 
'Mid shouts and cheers 
The jaded steers, 
Panting beneath the goad. 
Dragged down the weary, winding road 
165 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Those captive kings so straight and tall, 

To be shorn of their streaming hair, 

And naked and bare. 

To feel the stress and the strain 

Of the wind and the reeling main, 

Whose roar 

Would remind them forevermore 

Of their native forests they should not see again. 

And everywhere 

The slender, graceful spars 

Poise aloft in the air, 

And at the mast-head. 

White, blue, and red, 

A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. 

Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless. 

In foreign harbors shall behold 

That flag unrolled, 

'T will be as a friendly hand 

Stretched out from his native land, 

Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless ! 

All is finished ! and at length 

Has come the bridal day 

Of beauty and of strength. 

To-day the vessel shall be launched ! 

With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, 

And o'er the bay, 



166 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Slowly, in all its splendors dight, 
The great sun rises to behold the sight. 

The ocean old, 

Centuries old, 

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, 

Paces restless to and fro, 

Up and down the sands of gold. 

His beating heart is not at rest ; 

And far and wide. 

With ceaseless flow. 

His beard of snow 

Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 

He waits impatient for his bride. 

There she stands, 

With her foot upon the sands. 

Decked with flags and streamers gay, 

In honor of her marriage day. 

Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, 

Round her like a veil descending. 

Ready to be 

The bride of the gray old sea. 

On the deck another bride 
Is standing by her lover's side. 
Shadows from the flags and shrouds. 
Like the shadows cast by clouds. 
Broken by many a sudden fleck. 
Fall around them on the deck. 
167 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

The prayer is said, 
The service read, 

The joyous bridegroom bows his head ; 
And in tears the good old Master 
Shakes the brown hand of his son. 
Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 
In silence, for he cannot speak. 
And ever faster 

Down his own the tears begin to run. 
The worthy pastor — 
The shepherd of that wandering flock, 
That has the ocean for its wold, 
That has the vessel for its fold, 
Leaping ever from rock to rock — 
Spake, with accents mild and clear. 
Words of warning, words of cheer. 
But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. 
He knew the chart 
Of the sailor's heart. 
All its pleasures and its griefs, 
All its shallows and rocky reefs. 
All those secret currents, that flow 
With such resistless undertow. 
And lift and drift, with terrible force. 
The will from its moorings and its course. 
Therefore he spake, and thus said he : — 
' Like unto ships far off" at sea. 
Outward or homeward bound, are we. 
Before, behind, and all around, 
168 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Floats and swings the horizon's bound, 

Seems at its distant rim to rise 

And cUmb the crystal wall of the skies, 

And then again to turn and sink, 

As if we could slide from its outer brink. 

Ah ! it is not the sea. 

It is not the sea that sinks and shelves. 

But ourselves 

That rock and rise 

With endless and uneasy motion, 

Now touching the very skies. 

Now sinking into the depths of ocean. 
Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing 
Like the compass in its brazen ring. 
Ever level and ever true 
To the toil and the task we have to do, 
We shall sail securely, and safely reach 
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach 
The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, 
Will be those of joy and not of fear ! " 

Then the Master, 
With a gesture of command, 
Waved his hand ; 
And at the word. 

Loud and sudden there was heard. 
All around them and below, 
The sound of hammers, blow on blow. 
Knocking away the shores and spurs. 
169 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

And see ! she stirs ! 

She starts, — she moves, — she seems to feel 

The thrill of life along her keel, 

And, spurning with her foot the ground. 

With one exulting, joyous bound, 

She leaps into the ocean's arms ! 

And lo ! from the assembled crowd 
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud. 
That to the ocean seemed to say, 
' Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray, 
Take her to thy protecting arms. 
With all her youth and all her charms ! ' ' 

How beautiful she is ! How fair 

She lies within those arms, that press 

Her form with many a soft caress 

Of tenderness and watchful care ! 

Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! 

Through wind and wave, right onward steer ! 

The moistened eye, the trembling lip. 

Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 

Sail forth into the sea of life, 
O gentle, loving, trusting wife, 
And safe from all adversity 
Upon the bosom of that sea 
Thy comings and thy goings be ! 
For gentleness and love and trust 
170 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP 

Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ; 
And in the wreck of noble lives 
Something immortal still survives ! 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! 

Sail on, O Union, strong and great ! 

Humanity with all its fears, 

With all the hopes of future years, 

Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 

We know what Master laid thy keel, 

What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 

Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. 

What anvils rang, what hammers beat. 

In what a forge and what a heat 

Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 

Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 

'T is of the wave and not the rock ; 

'T is but the flapping of the sail, 

And not a rent made by the gale ! 

In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 

In spite of false lights on the shore. 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. 

Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! 



in 



THE SECRET OF THE SEA 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 

As I gaze upon the sea ! 
All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams, come back to me. 

Sails of silk and ropes of sandal, 
Such as gleam in ancient lore ; 

And the singing of the sailors, 
And the answer from the shore ! 

Most of all, the Spanish ballad 
Haunts me oft, and tarries long. 

Of the noble Count Arnaldos 
And the sailor's mystic song. 

Like the long waves on a sea-beach, 
Where the sand as silver shines. 

With a soft, monotonous cadence. 
Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ; — 

Telling how the Count Arnaldos, 
With his hawk upon his hand. 

Saw a fair and stately galley. 
Steering onward to the land ; — 
172 



THE SECRET OF THE SEA 

How he heard the ancient helmsman 

Chant a song so wild and clear, 
That the sailing sea-bird slowly 

Poised upon the mast to hear, 

Till his soul was full of longing, 

And he cried, with impulse strong, — 
' ' Helmsman ! for the love of heaven, 

Teach me, too, that wondrous song ! " 

*' Wouldst thou," — so the helmsman answered, 
' ' Learn the secret of the sea ? 
Only those who brave its dangers 
Comprehend its mystery ! ' ' 

In each sail that skims the horizon. 
In each landward-blowing breeze, 

I behold that stately galley, 

Hear those mournful melodies ; 

Till my soul is full of longing 

For the secret of the sea, 
And the heart of the great ocean 

Sends a thrilling pulse through me. 



173 



TWILIGHT 

The twilight is sad and cloudy, 
The wind blows wild and free, 

And like the wings of sea-birds 
Flash the white caps of the sea. 

But in the fisherman's cottage 
There shines a ruddier light. 

And a little face at the window 
Peers out into the night. 

Close, close it is pressed to the window, 

As if those childish eyes 
Were looking into the darkness 

To see some form arise. 

And a woman's waving shadow 

Is passing to and fro, 
Now rising to the ceiling. 

Now bowing and bending low. 

What tale do the roaring ocean. 

And the night- wind, bleak and wild. 

As they beat at the crazy casement, 
Tell to that little child? 
174 



TWILIGHT 

And why do the roaring ocean, 

And the night- wind, wild and bleak. 

As they beat at the heart of the mother 
Drive the color from her cheek ? 



175 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 

Southward with fleet of ice 

Sailed the corsair Death; 
Wild and fast blew the blast, 

And the east- wind was his breath. 

His lordly ships of ice 

Glisten in the sun ; 
On each side, like pennons wide. 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 

His sails of white sea-mist 

Dripped with silver rain ; 
But where he passed there were cast 

Leaden shadows o'er the main. 

Eastward from Campobello 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; 

Three days or more seaward he bore, 
Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. 

Alas ! the land-wind failed, 
And ice-cold grew the night ; 

And nevermore, on sea or shore. 
Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 
176 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 

He sat upon the deck, 

The Book was in his hand ; 
Do not fear ! Heaven is as near," 

He said, * ' by water as by land ! ' ' 

In the first watch of the night, 

Without a signal's sound. 
Out of the sea, mysteriously, 

The fleet of Death rose all around. 

The moon and the evening star 
Were hanging in the shrouds ; 

Every mast, as it passed. 

Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 

They grappled with their prize. 
At midnight black and cold ! 

As of a rock was the shock ; 

Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 

Southward through day and dark. 
They drift in close embrace. 

With mist and rain, o'er the open main ; 
Yet there seems no change of place. 

Southward, forever southward, 
They drift through dark and day ; 

And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream 
Sinking, vanish all away. 
177 



THE LIGHTHOUSE 

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, 
And on its outer point, some miles away. 

The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, 
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. 

Even at this distance I can see the tides. 
Upheaving, break unheard along its base, 

A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides 
In the white lip and tremor of the face. 

And as the evening darkens, lo ! how bright. 
Through the deep purple of the twilight air. 

Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light 
With strange, unearthly splendor in the glare ! 

Not one alone ; from each projecting cape 
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge. 

Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape. 

Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. 

Like the great giant Christopher it stands 
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave. 

Wading far out among the rocks and sands, 
The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 
178 



THE LIGHTHOUSE 

And the great ships sail outward and return, 
Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells, 

And ever joyful, as they see it burn. 

They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. 

They come forth from the darkness, and their sails 
Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, 

And eager faces, as the light unveils. 

Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. 

The mariner remembers when a child. 
On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink ; 

And when, returning from adventures wild, 
He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. 

Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same 
Year after year, through all the silent night 

Burns on forevermore that quenchless flame. 
Shines on that inextinguishable light ! 

It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp 

The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace ; 
It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, 

And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. 

The startled waves leap over it ; the storm 
Smites it with all the scourges of the rain, 

And steadily against its solid form 

Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. 
179 



THE LIGHTHOUSE 

The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din 
Of wings and winds and solitary cries, 

Blinded and maddened by the light within, 
Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. 

A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock. 
Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, 

It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, 
But hails the mariner with words of love. 

Sail on ! " it says, "sail on, ye stately ships ! 

And with your floating bridge the ocean span ; 
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse. 

Be yours to bring man nearer unto man ! " 



180 



THE BUILDERS 

All are architects of Fate, 

Working in these walls of Time ; 
Some with massive deeds and great, 

Some with ornaments of rhyme. 

Nothing useless is, or low ; 

Each thing in its place is best ; 
And what seems but idle show 

Strengthens and supports the rest. 

For the structure that we raise. 
Time is with materials filled ; 

Our to-days and yesterdays 

Are the blocks with which we build. 

Truly shape and fashion these ; 

Leave no yawning gaps between ; 
Think not, because no man sees, 

Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder days of Art, 

Builders wrought with greatest care 
Each minute and unseen part ; 

For the Gods see every \\'here. 

181 



THE BUILDERS 

Let us do our work as well, 
Both the unseen and the seen ; 

Make the house, where Gods may dwell. 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete, 
Standing in these walls of Time, 

Broken stairways, where the feet 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build to-day, then, strong and sure. 
With a firm and ample base ; 

And ascending and secure 
Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 

To those turrets, where the eye 

Sees the world as one vast plain. 
And one boundless reach of sky. 



182 



CASPAR BECERRA 

By his evening fire the artist 
Pondered o'er his secret shame ; 

Baffled, weary, and disheartened, 

Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. 

'T was an image of the Virgin 
That had tasked his utmost skill ; 

But, alas ! his fair ideal 

Vanished and escaped him still. 

From a distant Eastern island 

Had the precious wood been brought ; 
Day and night the anxious master 

At his toil untiring wrought ; 

Till, discouraged and desponding, 

Sat he now in shadows deep. 
And the day's humiliation 

Found oblivion in sleep. 

Then a voice cried, " Rise, O master ! 

From the burning brand of oak 
Shape the thought that stirs within thee ! " 

And the startled artist woke, — 



GASPAR BECERRA 

Woke, and from the smoking embers 
Seized and quenched the glowing wood ; 

And therefrom he carved an image, 
And he saw that it was good. 

O thou sculptor, painter, poet ! 

Take this lesson to thy heart : 
That is best which lieth nearest ; 

Shape from that thy work of art. 



184 



PEGASUS IN POUND 

Once into a quiet village, 

Without haste and ^\■ithout heed, 

In the golden prime of morning. 
Strayed the poet's winged steed. 

It was Autumn, and incessant 

Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, 
And, like living coals, the apples 

Burned among the withering leaves. 

Loud the clamorous bell was ringing 
From its belfry gaunt and grim ; 

'T was the daily call to labor, 
Not a triumph meant for him. 

Not the less he saw the landscape, 

In its gleaming vapor veiled ; 
Not the less he breathed the odors 

That the dying leaves exhaled. 

Thus, upon the village common, 
By the school-boys he \\'as found ; 

And the wise men, in their wisdom, 
Put him straightway into pound. 
185 



PEGASUS IN POUND 

Then the sombre village crier, 
Ringing loud his brazen bell, 

Wandered down the street proclaiming 
There was an estray to sell. 

And the curious country people, 
Rich and poor, and young and old, 

Came in haste to see this wondrous 
Winged steed, with mane of gold. 

Thus the day passed, and the evening 
Fell, with vapors cold and dim ; 

But it brought no food nor shelter. 
Brought no straw nor stall, for him. 

Patiently, and still expectant, 

Looked he through the wooden bars, 
Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, 

Saw the tranquil, patient stars ; 

Till at length the bell at midnight 
Sounded from its dark abode. 

And, from out a neighboring farm-yard, 
Loud the cock Alectryon crowed. 

Then, with nostrils wide distended. 
Breaking from his iron chain, 

And unfolding far his pinions, 
To those stars he soared again. 
186 



PEGASUS IN POUND 

On the morrow, when the village 
Woke to all its toil and care, 

Lo ! the strange steed had departed. 
And they knew not when nor where. 

But they found, upon the greensward 
Where his struggling hoofs had trod, 

Pure and bright, a fountain flowing 
From the hoof-marks in the sod. 

From that hour, the fount unfailing 
Gladdens the whole region round, 

Strengthening all \\ ho drink its waters. 
While it soothes them with its sound. 



187 




BIRDS OF PASSAGE 





>--:^e"g^^..g^ 



THE PHANTOM SHIP 



^ ^"^ ^.^ 



■.^^ 



In Mather's Magnalia Christi, 

Of the old colonial time, 
May be found in prose the legend 

That is here set do^^ n in rhyme. 

A ship sailed from New Haven, 
And the keen and frosty airs, 

That filled her sails at parting, 

Were heavy with good men's prayers. 

O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure ' ' — 
Thus prayed the old divine — 

To bury our friends in the ocean. 
Take them, for they are thine ! " 



But Master Lamberton muttered. 
And under his breath said he, 

This ship is so crank and walty, 
I fear our grave she will be ! " 
191 



THE PHANTOM SHIP 

And the ships that came from England, 
When the winter months were gone, 

Brought no tidings of this vessel 
Nor of Master Lamberton. 

This put the people to praying 

That the Lord would let them hear 

What in his greater wisdom 

He had done with friends so dear. 

And at last their prayers were answered : 

It was in the month of June, 
An hour before the sunset 

Of a windy afternoon, 

When, steadily steering landward, 

A ship was seen below. 
And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, 

Who sailed so long ago. 

On she came, with a cloud of canvas. 
Right against the wind that blew. 

Until the eye could distinguish 
The faces of the crew. 

Then fell her straining topmasts. 
Hanging tangled in the shrouds. 

And her sails were loosened and lifted, 
And blown away like clouds. 

192 



THE PHANTOM SHIP 

And the masts, with all their rigging, 

Fell slowly, one by one, 
And the hulk dilated and vanished, 

As a sea-mist in the sun ! 

And the people who saw this marvel 

Each said unto his friend, 
That this was the mould of their vessel. 

And thus her tragic end. 

And the pastor of the village 
Gave thanks to God in prayer, 

That, to quiet their troubled spirits. 
He had sent this Ship of Air. 



193 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS 

A MIST was driving down the British Channel, 

The day was just begun, 
And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, 

Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon. 

And the white sails of ships ; 
And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon 

Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover 

Were all alert that day, 
To see the French war-steamers speeding over. 

When the fog cleared away. 

Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions. 

Their cannon, through the night. 
Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance. 

The sea-coast opposite. 

And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations 

On every citadel ; 
Each answering each, with morning salutations, 

That all was well. 

194 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS 

And down the coast, all taking up the burden, 

Replied the distant forts, 
As if to summon from his sleep the Warden 
' And Lord of the Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure. 

No drum-beat from the wall. 
No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure, 

Awaken with its call ! 

No more, surveying with an eye impartial 

The long line of the coast. 
Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal 

Be seen upon his post ! 

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior. 

In sombre harness mailed. 
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, 

The rampart wall had scaled. 

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper. 

The dark and silent room. 
And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper. 

The silence and the gloom. 

He did not pause to parley or dissemble. 

But smote the Warden hoar ; 
Ah ! what a blow ! that made all England tremble 

And groan from shore to shore. 
195 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS 

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, 
The sun rose bright o'erhead ; 

Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated 
That a great man was dead. 



196 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST 

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, 
With his swarthy, grave commanders, 

I forget in what campaign. 

Long besieged, in mud and rain. 
Some old frontier town of Flanders. 

Up and down the dreary camp. 
In great boots of Spanish leather. 

Striding with a measured tramp. 

These Hidalgos, dull and damp. 

Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. 

Thus as to and fro they went 

Over upland and through hollow. 

Giving their impatience vent. 

Perched upon the Emperor's tent. 
In her nest, they spied a swallow. 

Yes, it was a swallow's nest. 

Built of clay and hair of horses. 
Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, 
Found on hedge-rows east and west. 
After skirmish of the forces. 
19r 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST 

Then an old Hidalgo said, 

As he twirled his gray mustachio, 
' Sure this swallow overhead 
Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, 
And the Emperor but a Macho ! ' ' 

Hearing his imperial name 

Coupled with those w^ords of malice, 
Half in anger, half in shame. 
Forth the great campaigner came 

Slowly from his canvas palace. 

' Let no hand the bird molest, ' ' 

Said he solemnly, " nor hurt her ! " 
Adding then, by way of jest, 

'Golondrina is my guest, 

'T is the wife of some deserter ! " 

Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, 

Through the camp was spread the rumor. 

And the soldiers, as they quaffed 

Flemish beer at dinner, laughed 
At the Emperor's pleasant humor. 

So unharmed and unafraid 

Sat the swallow still and brooded. 
Till the constant cannonade 
Through the walls a breach had made, 
And the siege was thus concluded. 
198 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST 

Then the army, elsewhere bent, 
Struck its tents as if disbanding, 

Only not the Emperor's tent, 

For he ordered, ere he w ent, 

Very curtly, " Leave it standing ! " 

So it stood there all alone, 

Loosely flapping, torn and tattered. 
Till the brood was fledged and flown, 
Singing o'er those walls of stone 

Which the cannon-shot had shattered. 



199 



VICTOR GALBRAITH 

Under the walls of Monterey 

At daybreak the bugles began to play, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
In the mist of the morning damp and gray, 
These were the words they seemed to say : 

"Come forth to thy death, 

Victor Galbraith ! " 

Forth he came, with a martial tread ; 
Firm was his step, erect his head ; 

Victor Galbraith, 
He who so well the bugle played. 
Could not mistake the words it said : 

*' Come forth to thy death, 

Victor Galbraith ! " 

He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky. 
He looked at the files of musketry, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
And he said, with a steady voice and eye, 
■ Take good aim ; I am ready to die ! " 

Thus challenges death 

Victor Galbraith . 

Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red, 
Six leaden balls on their errand sped ; 
Victor Galbraith 

200 



VICTOR GALBRAITH 

Falls to the ground, but he is not dead : 

His name was not stamped on those balls of lead, 

And they only scath 

Victor Galbraith. 

Three balls are in his breast and brain, 
But he rises out of the dust again, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
The water he drinks has a bloody stain ; 
Oh kill me, and put me out of my pain ! " 

In his agony prayeth 

Victor Galbraith. 

Forth dart once more those tongues of flame, 
And the bugler has died a death of shame, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
His soul has gone back to whence it came. 
And no one answers to the name, 

When the Sergeant saith, 

^'VictorGalbraith!" 

Under the walls of Monterey 
By night a bugle is heard to play, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
Through the mist of the valley damp and gray 
The sentinels hear the sound and say, 

' ' That is the wraith 

OfVictorGalbraith!" 



201 



MY LOST YOUTH 

Often I think of the beautiful town 

That is seated by the sea ; 
Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old town, 
And my youth comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still : 
*' A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas. 
And islands that were the Hesperides 
Of all my boyish dreams. 

And the burden of that old song. 
It murmurs and whis{>ers still : 
' ' A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the black wharves and the slips, 

And the sea-tides tossing free ; 
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips. 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships, 

And the magic of the sea. 

202 



MY LOST YOUTH 

And the voice of that wayward song 
Is singing and saying still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the bulwarks by the shore. 

And the fort upon the hill ; 
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar. 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, 
And the bugle wild and shrill. 
And the music of that old song 
Throbs in my memory still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the sea-fight far away. 
How it thundered o'er the tide ! 
And the dead captains, as they lay 
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay 
Where they in battle died. 

And the sound of that mournful song 
Goes through me with a thrill : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I can see the breezy dome of groves, 

The shadows of Deering's Woods ; 
And the friendships old and the early loves 
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves 

In quiet neighborhoods. 

203 



MY LOST YOUTH 

And the verse of that sweet old song, 
It flutters and murmurs still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart 

Across the school-boy's brain ; 
The song and the silence in the heart, 
That in part are prophecies, and in part 
Are longings wild and vain. 
And the voice of that fitful song 
Sings on, and is never still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

There are things of which I may not speak ; 

There are dreams that cannot die ; 
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, 
And bring a pallor into the cheek, 
And a mist before the eye. 

And the words of that fatal song 
Come over me like a chill : 
' ' A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

Strange to me now are the forms I meet 

When I visit the dear old town ; 
But the native air is pure and sweet. 
And the trees that o'ershadoweach well-known street, 

204 



MY LOST YOUTH 

As they balance up and down, 
Are singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, 

And with joy that is almost pain 
My heart goes back to wander there, 
And among the dreams of the days that were, 
I find my lost youth again. 

And the strange and beautiful song, 
The groves are repeating it still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 



205 



THE ROPEWALK 

In that building, long and low, 
With its windows all a-row, 

Like the port-holes of a hulk, 
Human spiders spin and spin, 
Backward down their threads so thin 

Dropping, each a hempen bulk. 

At the end, an open door ; 
Squares of sunshine on the floor 

Light the long and dusky lane ; 
And the whirring of a wheel. 
Dull and drowsy, makes me feel 

All its spokes are in my brain. 

As the spinners to the end 
Downward go and reascend. 

Gleam the long threads in the sun ; 
While within this brain of mine 
Cobwebs brighter and more fine 

By the busy wheel are spun. 

Two fair maidens in a swing, 
Like white doves upon the wing. 
First before my vision pass ; 
206 



THE ROPEWALK 

Laughing, as their gentle hands 
Closely clasp the twisted strands, 
At their shadow on the grass. 

Then a booth of mountebanks. 
With its smell of tan and planks. 

And a girl poised high in air 
On a cord, in spangled dress. 
With a faded loveliness. 

And a weary look of care. 

Then a homestead among farms, 
And a woman with bare arms 

Drawing water from a well ; 
As the bucket mounts apace. 
With it mounts her own fair face, 

As at some magician's spell. 

Then an old man in a tower, 
Ringing loud the noontide hour. 

While the rope coils round and round 
Like a serpent at his feet, 
And again, in swift retreat. 

Nearly lifts him from the ground. 

Then within a prison-yard, 
Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, 
Laughter and indecent mirth ; 
Ah ! it is the gallo^vs-tree ! 
207 



THE ROPEWALK 

Breath of Christian charity, 

Blow, and sweep it from the earth ! 

Then a school-boy, with his kite 
Gleaming in a sky of light, 

And an eager, upward look ; 
Steeds pursued through lane and field ; 
Fowlers with their snares concealed ; 

And an angler by a brook. 

Ships rejoicing in the breeze. 
Wrecks that float o'er unknown seas. 

Anchors dragged through faithless sand ; 
Sea-fog drifting overhead. 
And, with lessening line and lead. 

Sailors feeling for the land. 

All these scenes do I behold. 
These, and many left untold. 

In that building long and low ; 
While the wheel goes round and round. 
With a drowsy, dreamy sound. 

And the spinners backward go. 



208 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 

A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S OROSIUS 

Othere, the old sea-captain, 

Who dwelt in Helgoland, 
To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth, 
Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, 

Which he held in his brown right hand. 

His figure was tall and stately. 
Like a boy's his eye appeared ; 

His hair was yellow as hay, 

But threads of a silvery gray 
Gleamed in his tawny beard. 

Hearty and hale was Othere, 
His cheek had the color of oak ; 

With a kind of a laugh in his speech, 

Like the sea-tide on a beach. 
As unto the King he spoke. 

And Alfred, King of the Saxons, 

Had a book upon his knees, 
And wrote down the wondrous tale 
Of him who was first to sail 

Into the Arctic seas. 
209 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 

" So far I live to the northward, 
No man lives north of me ; 
To the east are wild mountain-chains, 
And beyond them meres and plains ; 
To the westward all is sea. 

" So far I live to the northward. 

From the harbor of Skeringes-hale, 

If you only sailed by day, 

With a fair wind all the way. 

More than a month would you sail. 

' ' I own six hundred reindeer, 

With sheep and swine beside ; 

I have tribute from the Finns, 

Whalebone and reindeer-skins, 
And ropes of walrus-hide. 

"I ploughed the land with horses. 
But my heart was ill at ease, 
For the old seafaring men 
Came to me now and then. 

With their sagas of the seas ; — 

' ' Of Iceland and of Greenland, 

And the stormy Hebrides, 
And the undiscovered deep ; — 
Oh I could not eat nor sleep 

For thinking of those seas. 

210 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 

"To the northward stretched the desert, 

How far I fain would know ; 
So at last I sallied forth, 
And three days sailed due north, 

As far as the whale-ships go. 

* ' To the west of me was the ocean. 
To the right the desolate shore. 

But I did not slacken sail 

For the walrus or the whale, 
Till after three days more. 

' ' The days grew longer and longer. 

Till they became as one. 
And northward through the haze 
I saw the sullen blaze 

Of the red midnight sun. 

"And then uprose before me, 

Upon the water's edge. 
The huge and haggard shape 
Of that unknown North Cape, 

Whose form is like a wedge. 

' ' The sea was rough and stormy, 
The tempest howled and wailed, 

And the sea-fog, like a ghost. 

Haunted that dreary coast, 
But onward still I sailed. 

211 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 

"Four days I steered to eastward, 
Four days without a night : 

Round in a fiery ring 

Went the great sun, O King, 
With red and lurid light." 

Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, 

Ceased writing for a while ; 
And raised his eyes from his book. 
With a strange and puzzled look. 
And an incredulous smile. 

But Othere, the old sea-captain, 
He neither paused nor stirred. 

Till the King listened, and then 

Once more took up his pen, 
And wrote down every word. 

"And now the land," said Othere, 
"Bent southward suddenly. 
And I followed the curving shore 
And ever southward bore 
Into a nameless sea. 

"And there we hunted the walrus. 
The narwhale, and the seal ; 

Ha ! 't was a noble game ! 

And like the lightning's flame 
Flew our harpoons of steel. 

212 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 

There were six of us all together, 

Norsemen of Helgoland ; 
In two days and no more 
We killed of them threescore, 

And dragged them to the strand ! ' ' 

Here Alfred the Truth-teller 
Suddenly closed his book, 
And lifted his blue eyes, 
With doubt and strange surmise 
Depicted in their look. 

And Othere the old sea-captain 

Stared at him wild and weird. 
Then smiled, till his shining teeth 
Gleamed white from underneath 
His tawny, quivering beard. 

And to the King of the Saxons, 

In witness of the truth. 
Raising his noble head, 
He stretched his brown hand, and said, 

"Behold this walrus-tooth ! " 



213 



THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ 

May 28, 1857 

It was fifty years ago 

In the pleasant month of May, 

In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, 
A child in its cradle lay. 

And Nature, the old nurse, took 

The child upon her knee. 
Saying : ' ' Here is a story-book 

Thy Father has written for thee." 

"Come, wander with me," she said, 
' ' Into regions yet untrod ; 
And read what is still unread 
In the manuscripts of God." 

And he wandered away and away 
With Nature, the dear old nurse, 

Who sang to him night and day 
The rhymes of the universe. 

And whenever the way seemed long, 

Or his heart began to fail. 
She would sing a more wonderful song. 

Or tell a more marvellous tale. 
214 



THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ 

So she keeps him still a child, 

And will not let him go, 
Though at times his heart beats wild 

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud ; 

Though at times he hears in his dreams 

The Ranz des Vaches of old. 
And the rush of mountain streams 

From glaciers clear and cold ; 

And the mother at home says, " Hark ! 

For his voice I listen and yearn ; 
It is growing late and dark. 

And my boy does not return ! " 



215 



DAYBREAK 

A WIND came up out of the sea, 

And said, " O mists, make room for me." 

It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, 
Ye mariners, the night is gone." 

And hurried landward far away, 
Crying, ' ' Awake ! it is the day. ' ' 

It said unto the forest, "Shout ! 
Hang all your leafy banners out ! ' ' 

It touched the wood-bird's folded wing. 
And said, " O bird, awake and sing." 

And o'er the farms, " O chanticleer. 
Your clarion blow ; the day is near." 

It whispered to the fields of corn. 

Bow down, and hail the coming morn." 

It shouted through the belfry-tower, 
Awake, O bell ! proclaim the hour." 

It crossed the churchyard with a sigh. 
And said, "Not yet ! in quiet lie." 
216 



SANDALPHON 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
In the Legends the Rabbins have told 

Of the limitless realms of the air, 
Have you read it, — the marvellous story 
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, 

Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the City Celestial he waits. 

With his feet on the ladder of light. 
That, crowded with angels unnumbered, 
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert at night ? 

The Angels of Wind and of Fire 
Chant only one hymn, and expire 

With the song's irresistible stress ; 
Expire in their rapture and wonder. 
As harp-strings are broken asunder 

By music they throb to express. 

But serene in the rapturous throng. 
Unmoved by the rush of the song. 
With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
217 



SANDALPHON 

Among the dead angels, the deathless 
Sandalphon stands listening breathless 
To sounds that ascend from below ; — 

From the spirits on earth that adore, 
From the souls that entreat and implore 

In the fervor and passion of prayer ; 
From the hearts that are broken with losses. 
And weary with dragging the crosses 

Too heavy for mortals to bear. 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands. 
And they change into flowers in his hands. 

Into garlands of purple and red ; 
And beneath the great arch of the portal. 
Through the streets of the City Immortal 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 
A fable, a phantom, a show. 

Of the ancient Rabbinical lore ; 
Yet the old mediaeval tradition. 
The beautiful, strange superstition. 

But haunts me and holds me the more. 

When I look from my window at night, 
And the welkin above is all white. 

All throbbing and panting with stars, 
Among them majestic is standing 

218 



SANDALPHON 

Sandalphon the angel, expanding 
His pinions in nebulous bars. 

And the legend, I feel, is a part 

Of the hunger and thirst of the heart. 

The frenzy and fire of the brain, 
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, 
The golden pomegranates of Eden, 

To quiet its fever and pain. 



219 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the night is beginning to lower, 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations. 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of httle feet. 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight. 
Descending the broad hall stair, 

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence : 
Yet I know by their merry eyes 

They are plotting and planning together 
To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall ! * 

By three doors left unguarded 
They enter my castle wall ! 

220 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 

They climb up into my turret 

O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 
If I try to escape, they surround me ; 

They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their arms about me entwine. 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti. 
Because you have scaled the wall. 

Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ! 

I have you fast in my fortress, 
And will not let you depart. 

But put you down into the dungeon 
In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever. 

Yes, forever and a day. 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away ! 



221 



ENCELADUS 

Under Mount Etna he lies, 

It is slumber, it is not death ; 
For he struggles at times to arise. 
And above him the lurid skies 

Are hot with his fiery breath. 

The crags are piled on his breast, 

The earth is heaped on his head ; 
But the groans of his wild unrest. 
Though smothered and half suppressed, 
Are heard, and he is not dead. 

And the nations far away 

Are watching with eager eyes ; 

They talk together and say, 

' To-morrow, perhaps to-day, 

Enceladus will arise ! " 

And the old gods, the austere 

Oppressors in their strength. 
Stand aghast and white with fear 
At the ominous sounds they hear. 

And tremble, and mutter, " At length ! " 

222 



ENCELADUS 

Ah me ! for the land that is sown 

With the harvest of despair ! 
Where the burning cinders, blown 
From the lips of the overthrown 

Enceladus, fill the air ; 

Where ashes are heaped in drifts 

Over vineyard and field and town, 
Whenever he starts and lifts 
His head through the blackened rifts 
Of the crags that keep him down. 

See, see ! the red light shines ! 

'T is the glare of his awful eyes ! 
And the storm- wind shouts through the pines 
Of Alps and of Apennines, 

" Enceladus, arise! " 



223 



THE CUMBERLAND 

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, 

On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war ; 
And at times from the fortress across the bay 
The alarum of drums swept past, 
Or a bugle blast 
From the camp on the shore. 

Then far away to the south uprose 

A little feather of snow-white smoke, 
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes 
Was steadily steering its course 
To try the force 
Of our ribs of oak. 

Down upon us heavily runs. 

Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; 
Then comes a puff" of smoke from her guns, 
And leaps the terrible death. 
With fiery breath. 
From each open port. 

We are not idle, but send her straight 

Defiance back in a full broadside ! 
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, 
Rebounds our heavier hail 
From each iron scale 
Of the monster's hide. 

224 



THE CUMBERLAND 

' Strike your flag ! " the rebel cries, 

In his arrogant old plantation strain. 
' Never ! ' ' our gallant Morris replies ; 

*' It is better to sink than to yield ! " 
And the whole air pealed 
With the cheers of our men. 

Then, like a kraken huge and black, 

She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp ! 
Down went the Cumberland all a wrack. 
With a sudden shudder of death. 
And the cannon's breath 
For her dying gasp. 

Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay. 

Still floated our flag at the mainmast head. 
Lord, how beautiful was Thy day ! 
Every waft of the air 
Was a whisper of prayer, 
Or a dirge for the dead. 

Ho ! brave hearts that went down in the seas 

Ye are at peace in the troubled stream ; 
Ho ! brave land ! with hearts like these. 
Thy flag, that is rent in twain, 
Shall be one again, 
And without a seam ! 



225 



SNOW-FLAKES 

Out of the bosom of the Air, 

Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, 
Over the woodlands brown and bare, 
Over the harvest-fields forsaken, 
Silent, and soft, and slow 
Descends the snow. 

Even as our cloudy fancies take 

Suddenly shape in some divine expression. 
Even as the troubled heart doth make 
In the white countenance confession. 
The troubled sky reveals 
The grief it feels. 

This is the poem of the air. 

Slowly in silent syllables recorded ; 
This is the secret of despair, 

Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded. 
Now whispered and revealed 
To wood and field. 



226 



A DAY OF SUNSHINE 

GIFT of God ! O perfect day : 
Whereon shall no man work, but play ; 
Whereon it is enough for me, 

Not to be doing, but to be ! 

Through every fibre of my brain. 
Through every nerve, through every vein, 

1 feel the electric thrill, the touch 
Of life, that seems almost too much. 

I hear the wind among the trees 
Playing celestial symphonies ; 
I see the branches downward bent. 
Like keys of some great instrument. 

And over me unrolls on high 
The splendid scenery of the sky. 
Where through a sapphire sea the sun 
Sails like a golden galleon, 

Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, 
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, 
Whose steep sierra far uplifts 
Its craggy summits white with drifts. 

227 



A DAY OF SUNSHINE 

Blow, winds ! and waft through all the rooms 
The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms ! 
Blow, winds ! and bend within my reach 
The fiery blossoms of the peach ! 

O Life and Love ! O happy throng 
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song ! 
O heart of man ! canst thou not be 
Blithe as the air is, and as free ? 



228 



SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE 

Labor with what zeal we will, 
Something still remains undone, 

Something uncompleted stiU 
Waits the rising of the sun. 

By the bedside, on the stair, 

At the threshold, near the gates. 

With its menace or its prayer, 
Like a mendicant it waits ; 

Waits, and will not go away ; 

Waits, and will not be gainsaid ; 
By the cares of yesterday 

Each to-day is heavier made ; 

Till at length the burden seems 

Greater than our strength can bear, 

Heavy as the weight of dreams, 
Pressing on us everywhere. 

And we stand from day to day. 
Like the dwarfs of times gone by, 

Who, as Northern legends say. 
On their shoulders held the sky. 
229 



CHRISTMAS BELLS 

I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day 
Their old, familiar carols play, 

And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

And thought how, as the day had come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 

Had rolled along 

The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

Till, ringing, singing on its way, 
The world revolved from night to day, 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cannon thundered in the South, 

And with the sound 

The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 
230 



CHRISTMAS BELLS 

It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearth-stones of a continent, 

And made forlorn 

The households born 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

And in despair I bowed my head ; 
There is no peace on earth," I said ; 

' ' For hate is strong, 

And mocks the song 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! " 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep : 
God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep ! 

The Wrong shall fail. 

The Right prevail. 
With peace on earth, good-will to men ! " 



231 



THE CASTLE-BUILDER 

A GENTLE boy, with soft and silken locks, 
A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes, 

A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks. 
And towers that touch imaginary skies. 

A fearless rider on his father's knee, 
An eager listener unto stories told 

At the Round Table of the nursery. 
Of heroes and adventures manifold. 

There will be other towers for thee to build ; 

There will be other steeds for thee to ride ; 
There will be other legends, and all filled 

With greater marvels and more glorified. 

Build on, and make thy castles high and fair. 
Rising and reaching upward to the skies ; 

Listening to voices in the upper air. 
Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries. 



232 



A castle-builder, zvith his wooden blocks. 
And tozvers that touch imaginary skies 



THE BROOK AND THE WAVE 

The brooklet came from the mountain, 

As sang the bard of old, 
Running with feet of silver 

Over the sands of gold ! 

Far away in the briny ocean 

There rolled a turbulent wave, 
Now singing along the sea-beach. 

Now howling along the cave. 

And the brooklet has found the billow. 
Though they flowed so far apart. 

And has filled with its freshness and sweetness 
That turbulent, bitter heart ! 



233 



THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE 

Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old, 

Five centuries old. I plant my foot of stone 
Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's own 
Was planted on the dragon. Fold by fold 

Beneath me as it struggles, I behold 

Its glistening scales. Twice hath it overthrown 
My kindred and companions. Me alone 
It moveth not, but is by me controlled. 

I can remember when the Medici 

Were driven from Florence ; longer still ago 
The final wars of Ghibelline and Guelf . 

Florence adorns me with her jewelry ; 
And when I think that Michael Angelo 
Hath leaned on me, I glory in myself. 



234 



TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE 

The ceaseless rain is falling fast, 

And yonder gilded vane, 
Immovable for three days past, 

Points to the misty main. 

It drives me in upon myself 

And to the fireside gleams, 
To pleasant books that crowd my shelf, 

And still more pleasant dreams. 

I read whatever bards have sung 

Of lands beyond the sea. 
And the bright days when I was young 

Come thronging back to me. 

I fancy I can hear again 

The Alpine torrent's roar. 
The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, 

The sea at Elsinore. 

I see the convent's gleaming wall 
Rise from its groves of pine, 

And towers of old cathedrals tall. 
And castles by the Rhine. 

235 



TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE 

I journey on by park and spire, 

Beneath centennial trees, 
Through fields with poppies all on fire, 

And gleams of distant seas. 

I fear no more the dust and heat. 

No more I feel fatigue. 
While journeying with another's feet 

O'er many a lengthening league. 

Let others traverse sea and land, 
And toil through various climes, 

I turn the world round with my hand 
Reading these poets' rhymes. 

From them I learn whatever lies 
Beneath each changing zone, 

And see, when looking with their eyes, 
Better than with mine own. 



236 



THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS 

Up soared the lark into the air, 
A shaft of song, a winged prayer, 
As if a soul released from pain 
Were flying back to heaven again. 

St. Francis heard : it was to him 
An emblem of the Seraphim ; 
The upward motion of the fire, 
The light, the heat, the heart's desire. 

Around Assisi's convent gate 
The birds, God's poor who cannot wait. 
From moor and mere and darksome wood 
Come flocking for their dole of food. 

" O brother birds," St. Francis said, 
" Ye come to me and ask for bread, 

But not with bread alone to-day 

Shall ye be fed and sent away. 

** Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds. 
With manna of celestial words ; 
Not mine, though mine they seem to be, 
Not mine, though they be spoken through me. 
237 



THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS 

" Oh, doubly are ye bound to praise 
The great Creator in your lays ; 
He giveth you your plumes of down, 
Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown. 

' ' He giveth you your wings to fly 
And breathe a purer air on high. 
And careth for you everywhere. 
Who for yourselves so little care ! ' ' 

With flutter of swift wings and songs 
Together rose the feathered throngs. 
And singing scattered far apart ; 
Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart. 

He knew not if the brotherhood 
His homily had understood ; 
He only knew that to one ear 
The meaning of his words was clear. 



238 



SONGO RIVER 

Nowhere such a devious stream, 
Save in fancy or in dream, 
Winding slow through bush and brake. 
Links together lake and lake. 

Walled with woods or sandy shelf, 
Ever doubling on itself 
Flows the stream, so still and slow 
That it hardly seems to flow. 

Never errant knight of old, 
Lost in woodland or on wold. 
Such a winding path pursued 
Through the sylvan solitude. 

Never school-boy, in his quest 
After hazel-nut or nest, 
Through the forest in and out 
Wandered loitering thus about. 

In the mirror of its tide 
Tangled thickets on each side 
Hang inverted, and between 
Floating cloud or sky serene. 
239 



SONGO RIVER 

Swift or swallow on the wing 
Seems the only living thing, 
Or the loon, that laughs and flies 
Down to those reflected skies. 

Silent stream ! thy Indian name 
Unfamiliar is to fame ; 
For thou hidest here alone. 
Well content to be unknown. 

But thy tranquil waters teach 
Wisdom deep as human speech, 
Moving without haste or noise 
In unbroken equipoise. 

Though thou turnest no busy mill, 
And art ever calm and still. 
Even thy silence seems to say 
To the traveller on his way : — 

" Traveller, hurrying from the heat 
Of the city, stay thy feet ! 
Rest awhile, nor longer waste 
Life with inconsiderate haste ! 

' ' Be not like a stream that brawls 
Loud with shallow waterfalls. 
But in quiet self-control 
Link together soul and soul." 
240 



A DUTCH PICTURE 

Simon Danz has come home again, 

From cruising about with his buccaneers ; 

He has singed the beard of the King of Spain, 

And carried away the Dean of Jaen 
And sold him in Algiers. 

In his house by the Maese, with its roof of tiles. 

And weathercocks flying aloft in air. 
There are silver tankards of antique styles, 
Plunder of convent and castle, and piles 
Of carpets rich and rare. 

In his tulip-garden there by the town. 

Overlooking the sluggish stream. 
With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown. 
The old sea-captain, hale and brown. 
Walks in a waking dream. 

A smile in his gray mustachio lurks 

Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain, 
And the listed tulips look like Turks, 
And the silent gardener as he works 
Is changed to the Dean of Jaen. 
241 



A DUTCH PICTURE 

The windmills on the outermost 

Verge of the landscape in the haze, 
To him are towers on the Spanish coast, 
With whiskered sentinels at their post, 
Though this is the river Maese. 

But when the winter rains begin, 

He sits and smokes by the blazing brands. 
And old seafaring men come in. 
Goat-bearded, gray, and with double chin. 

And rings upon their hands. 

They sit there in the shadow and shine 
Of the flickering fire of the winter night ; 

Figures in color and design 

Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine, 
Half darkness and half light. 

And they talk of ventures lost or won. 

And their talk is ever and ever the same, 
While they drink the red wine of Tarragon, 
From the cellars of some Spanish Don, 
Or convent set on flame. 

Restless at times with heavy strides 

He paces his parlor to and fro ; 
He is like a ship that at anchor rides. 
And swings with the rising and falling tides. 

And tugs at her anchor- tow. 
242 



A DUTCH PICTURE 

Voices mysterious far and near, 

Sound of the wind and sound of the sea, 
Are calling and whispering in his ear, 
Simon Danz ! Why stayest thou here ? 

Come forth and foUow me ! ' ' 

So he thinks he shall take to the sea again 

For one more cruise with his buccaneers, 
To singe the beard of the King of Spain, 
And capture another Dean of Jaen 
And sell him in Algiers. 



243 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 

How much of my young heart, O Spain, 
Went out to thee in days of yore ! 

What dreams romantic filled my brain, 

And summoned back to life again 

The Paladins of Charlemagne, 
The Cid Campeador ! 

And shapes more shadowy than these. 

In the dim twilight half revealed ; 
Phoenician galleys on the seas. 
The Roman camps like hives of bees. 
The Goth uplifting from his knees 
Pelayo on his shield. 

It was these memories perchance. 
From annals of remotest eld, 

That lent the colors of romance 

To every trivial circumstance, 

And changed the form and countenance 
Of all that I beheld. 

Old towns, whose history lies hid 

In monkish chronicle or rhyme, — 
Burgos, the birthplace of the Cid, 
244 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 

Zamora and Valladolid, 
Toledo, built and walled amid 
The wars of Wamba's time ; 

The long, straight line of the highway. 
The distant town that seems so near. 
The peasants in the fields, that stay 
Their toil to cross themselves and pray. 
When from the belfry at midday 
The Angelas they hear ; 

White crosses in the mountain pass. 

Mules gay with tassels, the loud din 
Of muleteers, the tethered ass 
That crops the dusty wayside grass. 
And cavaliers with spurs of brass 
Alighting at the inn ; 

White hamlets hidden in fields of wheat, 

White cities slumbering by the sea, 
White sunshine flooding square and street, 
Dark mountain ranges, at whose feet 
The river beds are dry with heat, — 
All was a dream to me. 

Yet something sombre and severe 

O'er the enchanted landscape reigned ; 
A terror in the atmosphere 
As if King Philip listened near, 
245 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 

Or Torquemada, the austere, 
His ghostly sway maintained. 

The softer Andalusian skies 

Dispelled the sadness and the gloom ; 
There Cadiz by the seaside lies, 
And Seville's orange-orchards rise, 
Making the land a paradise 

Of beauty and of bloom. 

There Cordova is hidden among 

The palm, the olive, and the vine ; 
Gem of the South, by poets sung, 
And in whose mosque Almanzor hung 
As lamps the bells that once had rung 
At Compostella's shrine. 

But over all the rest supreme, 

The star of stars, the cynosure. 
The artist's and the poet's theme, 
The young man's vision, the old man's dream, 
Granada by its winding stream, 

The city of the Moor ! 

And there the Alhambra still recalls 

Aladdin's palace of delight : 
Allah il Allah ! through its halls 
Whispers the fountain as it falls. 
The Darro darts beneath its walls, 

The hills with snow are white. 
246 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 

Ah yes, the hills are white with snow, 
And cold with blasts that bite and freeze ; 

But in the happy vale below 

The orange and pomegranate grow, 

And wafts of air toss to and fro. 
The blossoming almond trees. 

The Vega cleft by the Xenil, 

The fascination and allure 
Of the sweet landscape chains the will ; 
The traveller lingers on the hill, 
His parted lips are breathing still 

The last sigh of the Moor. 

How like a ruin overgrown 

With flowers that hide the rents of time. 
Stands now the Past that I have known ; 
Castles in Spain, not built of stone 
But of white summer clouds, and blown 

Into this little mist of rhyme ! 



247 



THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE 

In that desolate land and lone, 
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone 

Roar down their mountain path, 
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs 
Muttered their woes and griefs 

And the menace of their wrath. 

" Revenge ! " cried Rain-in-the-Face, 
' ' Revenge upon all the race 

Of the White Chief with yellow hair ! " 
And the mountains dark and high 
From their crags reechoed the cry 
Of his anger and despair. 

In the meadow, spreading wide 
By woodland and river-side 

The Indian village stood ; 
All was silent as a dream. 
Save the rushing of the stream 

And the blue-jay in the wood. 

In his war paint and his beads, 
Like a bison among the reeds. 
In ambush the Sitting Bull 
Lay with three thousand braves 

248 



THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE 

Crouched in the clefts and caves, 
Savage, unmerciful ! 

Into the fatal snare 

The white Chief with yellow hair 

And his three hundred men 
Dashed headlong, sword in hand ; 
But of that gallant band 

Not one returned again. 

The sudden darkness of death 
Overwhelmed them like the breath 

And smoke of a furnace fire : 
By the river's bank, and between 
The rocks of the ravine, 

They lay in their bloody attire. 

But the foemen fled in the night, 
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight, 

Uplifted high in air 
As a ghastly trophy, bore 
The brave heart, that beat no more, 

Of the White Chief with yellow hair. 

Whose was the right and the wrong ? 
Sing it, O funeral song. 

With a voice that is full of tears. 
And say that our broken faith 
Wrought all this ruin and scathe. 

In the Year of a Hundred Years. 
249 



A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET 

OCTOBER, 1746 
Mr. Thomas Prince loquitur 

A FLEET with flags arrayed 

Sailed from the port of Brest, 
And the Admiral's ship displayed 

The signal : " Steer southwest." 
For this Admiral D'Anville 

Had sworn by cross and crown 
To ravage with fire and steel 

Our helpless Boston Town. 

There were rumors in the street, 

In the houses there was fear 
Of the coming of the fleet. 

And the danger hovering near. 
And while from mouth to mouth 

Spread the tidings of dismay, 
I stood in the Old South, 

Saying humbly : ' ' Let us pray ! 

' ' O Lord ! we would not advise ; 
But if in thy Providence 
A tempest should arise 

To drive the French Fleet hence, 
250 



A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET 

And scatter it far and wide, 

Or sink it in the sea, 
We should be satisfied. 

And thine the glory be. " 

This was the prayer I made, 

For my soul was all on flame, 
And even as I prayed 

The answering tempest came ; 
It came with a mighty power, 

Shaking the windo\v s and walls, 
And tolling the bell in the tower, 

As it tolls at funerals. 

The lightning suddenly 

Unsheathed its flaming sword, 
And I cried : "Stand still, and see 

The salvation of the Lord ! ' ' 
The heavens were black with cloud. 

The sea was white with hail. 
And ever more fierce and loud 

Blew the October gale. 

The fleet it o\'ertook. 

And the broad sails in the van 
Like the tents of Cushan shook. 

Or the curtains of Midian. 
Down on the reeling decks 

Crashed the o'erwhelming seas ; 
251 



A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET 

Ah, never were there wrecks 
So pitiful as these ! 

Like a potter's vessel broke 

The great ships of the line ; 
They were carried away as a smoke, 

Or sank like lead in the brine. 
O Lord ! before thy path 

They vanished and ceased to be. 
When thou didst walk in wrath 

With thine horses through the sea ! 



252 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 

Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, 
His chestnut steed with four white feet, 

Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, 
Son of the road and bandit chief, 
Seeking refuge and relief, 

Up the mountain pathway flew. 

Such was Kyrat' s wondrous speed. 
Never yet could any steed 

Reach the dust-cloud in his course. 
More than maiden, more than wife, 
More than gold and next to life 

Roushan the Robber loved his horse. 

In the land that lies beyond 
Erzeroum and Trebizond, 

Garden-girt his fortress stood ; 
Plundered khan, or caravan 
Journeying north from Koordistan, 

Gave him wealth and wine and food. 

Seven hundred and fourscore 
Men at arms his livery wore, 
Did his bidding night and day ; 

253 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 

Now, through regions all unknown, 
He was wandering, lost, alone, 
Seeking without guide his way. 

Suddenly the pathway ends, 
Sheer the precipice descends. 

Loud the torrent roars unseen ; 
Thirty feet from side to side 
Yawns the chasm ; on air must ride 

He who crosses this ravine. 

Following close in his pursuit, 
At the precipice's foot 

Reyhan the Arab of Orfah 
Halted with his hundred men. 
Shouting upward from the glen, 

" La Illah ilia Allah ! " 

Gently Roushan Beg caressed 

Ky rat's forehead, neck, and breast ; 

Kissed him upon both his eyes, 
Sang to him in his wild way. 
As upon the topmost spray 

Sings a bird before it flies. 

O my Kyrat, O my steed. 
Round and slender as a reed. 

Carry me this peril through ! 
Satin housings shall be thine, 
254 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 

Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine, 
O thou soul of Kurroglou ! 

' Soft thy skin as silken skein. 
Soft as woman's hair thy mane, 

Tender are thine eyes and true ; 
All thy hoofs like ivory shine, 
Polished bright ; O life of mine, 

Leap, and rescue Kurroglou ! " 

Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet. 
Drew together his four white feet. 

Paused a moment on the verge. 
Measured with his eye the space. 
And into the air's embrace 

Leaped as leaps the ocean surge. 

As the ocean surge o'er sand 
Bears a swimmer safe to land, 

Kyrat safe his rider bore ; 
Rattling down the deep abyss 
Fragments of the precipice 

Rolled like pebbles on a shore. 

Roushan's tasselled cap of red 
Trembled not upon his head. 

Careless sat he and upright ; 
Neither hand nor bridle shook. 
Nor his head he turned to look. 

As he galloped out of sight. 

255 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 

Flash of harness in the air, 
Seen a moment like the glare 

Of a sword drawn from its sheath ; 
Thus the phantom horseman passed, 
And the shadow that he cast 

Leaped the cataract underneath. 

Reyhan the Arab held his breath 
While this vision of life and death 

Passed above him. " Allahu ! " 
Cried he. "In all Koordistan 
Lives there not so brave a man 

As this Robber Kurroglou ! " 



256 



THE THREE KINGS 

Three Kings came riding from far away, 

Melchior and Caspar and Baltasar ; 
Three Wise Men out of the East were they, 
And they travelled by night and they slept by day. 
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star. 

The star was so beautiful, large, and clear. 

That all the other stars of the sky 
Became a white mist in the atmosphere, 
And by this they knew that the coming was near 

Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy. 

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows, 

Three caskets of gold with golden keys ; 
Their robes were of crimson silk with rows 
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows. 
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees. 

And so the Three Kings rode into the West, 

Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell. 
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast. 
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest, 
With the people they met at some wayside well. 

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar, 
"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news ; 
257 



THE THREE KINGS 

For we in the East have seen his star, 
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far, 
To find and worship the King of the Jews." 

And the people answered, " You ask in vain ; 

We know of no king but Herod the Great ! ' ' 
They thought the Wise Men were men insane, 
As they spurred their horses across the plain. 

Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait. 

And when they came to Jerusalem, 

Herod the Great, who had heard this thing. 

Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them ; 

And said, " Go down unto Bethlehem, 
And bring me tidings of this new king. ' ' 

So they rode away ; and the star stood still. 

The only one in the gray of morn ; 
Yes, it stopped, — it stood still of its own free will. 
Right over Bethlehem on the hill. 

The city of David, where Christ was born. 

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the 
guard. 
Through the silent street, till their horses turned 
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard; 
But the windows were closed, and the doors were 
barred. 
And only a light in the stable burned. 

258 



THE THREE KINGS 

And cradled there in the scented hay, 

In the air made sweet by the breath of kine, 
The little child in the manger lay, 
The child, that would be king one day 
Of a kingdom not human but divine. 

His mother Mary of Nazareth 

Sat watching beside his place of rest. 
Watching the even flow of his breath. 
For the joy of life and the terror of death 
Were mingled together in her breast. 

They laid their offerings at his feet : 
The gold was their tribute to a King, 

The frankincense, with its odor sweet. 

Was for the Priest, the Paraclete, 
The myrrh for the body's burying. 

And the mother wondered and bowed her head. 

And sat as still as a statue of stone ; 
Her heart was troubled yet comforted. 
Remembering what the Angel had said 
Of an endless reign and of David's throne. 

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate. 
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array ; 
But they went not back to Herod the Great, 
For they knew his malice and feared his hate. 
And returned to their homes by another way. 
259 



THE WHITE CZAR 

Dost thou see on the rampart's height 
That wreath of mist, in the light 
Of the midnight moon ? Oh, hist ! 
It is not a wreath of mist ; 
It is the Czar, the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

He has heard, among the dead, 
The artillery roll o'erhead ; 
The drums and the tramp of feet 
Of his soldiery in the street ; 
He is awake ! the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

He has heard in the grave the cries 
Of his people : " Awake! arise ! " 
He has rent the gold brocade 
Whereof his shroud was made ; 
He is risen ! the White Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 

From the Volga and the Don 
He has led his armies on. 
Over river and morass. 
Over desert and mountain pass ; 
The Czar, the Orthodox Czar, 
Batyushka ! Gosudar ! 
260 



FROM MY ARM-CHAIR 

TO THE CHILDREN OF CAMBRIDGE 

WHO PRESENTED TO ME, ON MY SEVENTY-SECOND 
BIRTHDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1879, THIS CHAIR MADE 
FROM THE WOOD OF THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH'S 
CHESTNUT TREE. 

Mr. Longfellow had this poem, which he wrote on the 
same day, printed on a sheet, and was accustomed to give 
a copy to each child who visited him and sat in the chair. 

Am I a king, that I should call my own 

This splendid ebon throne ? 
Or by what reason, or what right divine. 

Can I proclaim it mine ? 

Only, perhaps, by right divine of song 

It may to me belong ; 
Only because the spreading chestnut tree 

Of old was sung by me. 

Well I remember it in all its prime. 

When in the summer-time 
The affluent foliage of its branches made 

A cavern of cool shade. 

There, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street, 

Its blossoms white and sweet 
Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive, 

And murmured like a hive. 
261 



FROM MY ARM-CHAIR 

And when the winds of autumn, with a shout, 

Tossed its great arms about, 
The shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath, 

Dropped to the ground beneath. 

And now some fragments of its branches bare, 

Shaped as a stately chair, 
Have by my hearthstone found a home at last. 

And whisper of the past. 

The Danish king could not in all his pride 

Repel the ocean tide. 
But, seated in this chair, I can in rhyme 

Roll back the tide of Time. 

I see again, as one in vision sees, 

The blossoms and the bees. 
And hear the children's voices shout and call, 

And the brown chestnuts fall. 

I see the smithy with its fires aglow, 

I hear the bellows blow. 
And the shrill hammers on the anvil beat 

The iron white with heat ! 

And thus, dear children, have ye made for me 

This day a jubilee. 
And to my more than threescore years and ten 

Brought back my youth again. 

262 



FROM MY ARM-CHAIR 

The heart hath its own memory, like the mind, 

And in it are enshrined 
The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought 

The giver's loving thought. 

Only your love and your remembrance could 

Give life to this dead wood. 
And make these branches, leafless now so long. 

Blossom again in song. 



263 



ROBERT BURNS 

I SEE amid the fields of Ayr 

A ploughman, who, in foul and fair, 

Sings at his task 
So clear, we know not if it is 
The laverock's song we hear, or his, 

Nor care to ask. 

For him the ploughing of those fields 
A more ethereal harvest yields 

Than sheaves of grain ; 
Songs flush with purple bloom the rye, 
The plover's call, the curlew's cry, 

Sing in his brain. 

Touched by his hand, the wayside weed 
Becomes a flower ; the lowliest reed 

Beside the stream 
Is clothed with beauty ; gorse and grass 
And heather, where his footsteps pass. 

The brighter seem. 

He sings of love, whose flame illumes 
The darkness of lone cottage rooms ; 
He feels the force, 
264 



ROBERT BURNS 

The treacherous undertow and stress 
Of wayward passions, and no less 
The keen remorse. 

At moments, wrestling with his fate, 
His voice is harsh, but not with hate; 

The brush- wood, hung 
Above the tavern door, lets fall 
Its bitter leaf, its drop of gall 

Upon his tongue. 

But still the music of his song 
Rises o'er all, elate and strong ; 

Its master-chords 
Are Manhood, Freedom, Brotherhood, 
Its discords but an interlude 

Between the words. 

And then to die so young and leave 
Unfinished what he might achieve ! 

Yet better sure 
Is this, than w^andering up and down, 
An old man in a country town. 

Infirm and poor. 

For now he haunts his native land 
As an immortal youth ; his hand 

Guides every plough ; 
He sits beside each ingle-nook, 
265 



ROBERT BURNS 

His voice is in each rushing brook, 
Each rustling bough. 

His presence haunts this room to-night, 
A form of mingled mist and light 

From that far coast. 
Welcome beneath this roof of mine ! 
Welcome ! this vacant chair is thine, 

Dear guest and ghost ! 



266 



IIIE WINDMILL 

Behold ! a giant am I! 

Aloft here in my tower, 

With my granite ja\\s I de\our 

The maize, and the \\ heat, and the rye. 
And grind them into flour. 

I look down oxer the farms ; 
In the fields of grain I see 
The har\cst that is to l)e. 

And I fling to the air my arms. 
For T know it is all for me. 

I hear the sound of flails 

Far off', from the threshing-floors 
In barns, with their open doors. 

And the w ind, the w ind in ni}- sails. 
Louder and louder roars. 

I stand here in m\- place, 

With mv foot on die rock below. 
And w hiche\cr way it may blow, 

I meet it face to face 

As a bra\ e man meets his foe. 
267 



THE WINDMILL 

And while we wrestle and strive, 
My master, the miller, stands 
And feeds me with his hands ; 

For he knows who makes him thrive. 
Who makes him lord of lands. 

On Sundays I take my rest; 
Church-going bells begin 
Their low, melodious din ; 

I cross my arms on my breast. 
And all is peace within. 



268 



TO THE AVON 

Flow on, sweet river ! like his verse 
Who lies beneath this sculptured hearse ; 
Nor wait beside the churchyard wall 
For him who cannot hear thy call. 

Thy playmate once ; I see him now 
A boy with sunshine on his brow, 
And hear in Stratford's quiet street 
The patter of his little feet, 

I see him by thy shallow edge 
Wading knee-deep amid the sedge ; 
And lost in thought, as if thy stream 
Were the swift river of a dream. 

He wonders whitherward it flows ; 
And fain would follow where it goes. 
To the wide world, that shall erelong 
Be filled with his melodious song. 

Flow on, fair stream ! That dream is o'er ; 
He stands upon another shore ; 
A vaster river near him flows, 
And still he follows where it goes. 
269 



MAD RIVER 

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 

TRAVELLER 

Why dost thou wildly rush and roar, 

Mad River, O Mad River ? 
Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour 
Thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er 

This rocky shelf forever? 

What secret trouble stirs thy breast ? 

Why all this fret and flurry ? 
Dost thou not know that what is best 
In this too restless world is rest 

From over- work and worry ? 

THE KtVER 

What wouldst thou in these mountains seek, 

O stranger from the city ? 
Is it perhaps some foolish freak 
Of thine, to put the words I speak 

Into a plaintive ditty ? 

TRAVELLER 

Yes ; I would learn of thee thy song, 
With all its flowing numbers, 
270 



MAD RIVER 

And in a voice as fresh and strong 
As thine is, sing it all day long, 
And hear it in my slumbers. 

THE RIVER 

A brooklet nameless and unknown 

Was I at first, resembling 
A little child, that all alone 
Comes venturing down the stairs of stone, 

Irresolute and trembling. 

Later, by wayward fancies led, 
For the wide world I panted ; 

Out of the forest, dark and dread. 

Across the open fields I fled. 

Like one pursued and haunted. 

I tossed my arms, I sang aloud, 
My voice exultant blending 
With thunder from the passing cloud. 
The wind, the forest bent and bowed, 
The rush of rain descending. 

I heard the distant ocean call. 

Imploring and entreating ; 
Drawn onward, o'er this rocky wall 
I plunged, and the loud waterfall 

Made answer to the greeting. 

271 



MAD RIVER 

And now, beset with many ills, 

A toilsome life I follow ; 
Compelled to carry from the hills 
These logs to the impatient mills 

Below there in the hollow. 

Yet something ever cheers and charms 

The rudeness of my labors ; 
Daily I water with these arms 
The cattle of a hundred farms, 

And have the birds for neighbors. 

Men call me Mad, and well they may. 

When, full of rage and trouble, 
I burst my banks of sand and clay, 
And sweep their wooden bridge away, 
Like withered reeds or stubble. 

Now go and write thy little rhyme, 
As of thine own creating. 

Thou seest the day is past its prime ; 

I can no longer waste my time ; 

The mills are tired of waiting. 



272 



DECORATION DAY 

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest 

On this Field of the Grounded Arms, 

Where foes no more molest. 
Nor sentry's shot alarms ! 

Ye have slept on the ground before, 

And started to your feet 
At the cannon's sudden roar. 

Or the drum's redoubling beat. 

But in this camp of Death 

No sound your slumber breaks ; 

Here is no fevered breath, 

No wound that bleeds and aches. 

All is repose and peace, 

Untrampled lies the sod ; 
The shouts of battle cease. 

It is the truce of God ! 

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep ! 

The thoughts of men shall be 
As sentinels to keep 

Your rest from danger free. 

273 



DECORATION DAY 

Your silent tents of green 

We deck with fragrant flowers ; 
Yours has the suffering been, 

The memory shall be ours. 



274 



THE MONK FELIX 

FROM "THE GOLDEN LEGEND" 

One morning, all alone, 

Out of his convent of gray stone. 

Into the forest older, darker, grayer. 

His lips moving as if in prayer. 

His head sunken upon his breast 

As in a dream of rest, 

Walked the Monk Felix. All about 

The broad, sweet sunshine lay without. 

Filling the summer air ; 

And within the woodlands as he trod, 

The dusk was like the Truce of God 

With worldly woe and care ; 

Under him lay the golden moss ; 

And above him the boughs of hoary trees 

Waved, and made the sign of the cross, 

And whispered their Benedicites ; 

And from the ground 

Rose an odor sweet and fragrant 

Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant 

Vines that wandered. 

Seeking the sunshine, round and round. 

These he heeded not, but pondered 
On the volume in his hand, 

275 



THE MONK FELIX 

Wherein amazed he read : 
* ' A thousand years in thy sight 

Are but as yesterday when it is past, 

And as a watch in the night ! " 

And with his eyes downcast 

In humility he said : 
*' I believe, O Lord, 

What is written in thy Word, 

But alas ! I do not understand ! ' ' 

And lo ! he heard 

The sudden singing of a bird, 

A snow-white bird, that from a cloud 

Dropped down. 

And among the branches brown 

Sat singing. 

So sweet, and clear, and loud, 

•It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing, 

And the Monk Felix closed his book, 

And long, long, 

With rapturous look, 

He listened to the song, 

And hardly breathed or stirred. 

Until he saw, as in a vision. 

The land Elysian, 

And in the heavenly city heard 

Angelic feet 

Fall on the golden flagging of the street. 

And he would fain 

276 



THE MONK FELIX 

Have caught the wondrous bird, 

But strove in vain ; 

For it flew away, away, 

Far over hill and dell. 

And instead of its sweet singing 

He heard the convent bell 

Suddenly in the silence ringing 

For the service of noonday. 

And he retraced 

His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. 

In the convent there was a change ! 
He looked for each well-known face. 
But the faces were new and strange ; 
New figures sat in the oaken stalls, 
New voices chanted in the choir ; 
Yet the place was the same place, 
The same dusky walls 
Of cold, gray stone. 
The same cloisters and belfry and spire. 

A stranger and alone 
Among that brotherhood 
The Monk Felix stood. 
'Forty years," said a Friar, 
■ Have I been Prior 
Of this convent in the wood, 
But for that space 
Never have I beheld thy face ! " 
277 



THE MONK FELIX 

The heart of the Monk Felix fell : 
And he answered, with submissive tone, 
*' This morning, after the hour of Prime, 
I left my cell, 

And wandered forth alone, 
Listening all the time 
To the melodious singing 
Of a beautiful white bird. 
Until I heard 

The bells of the convent ringing 
Noon from their noisy towers. 
It was as if I dreamed ; 
For what to me had seemed 
Moments only, had been hours ! " 

"Years ! " said a voice close by. 

It was an aged monk who spoke. 

From a bench of oak 

Fastened against the wall ; — 

He was the oldest monk of all. 

For a whole century 

Had he been there. 

Serving God in prayer, 

The meekest and humblest of his creatures. 

He remembered well the features 

Of Felix, and he said. 

Speaking distinct and slow : 
"One hundred years ago. 

When I was a novice in this place, 
278 



THE MONK FELIX 

There was here a monk, full of God's grace, 

Who bore the name 

Of Felix, and diis man must be the same." 

And straightway 

They brought forth to the light of day 

A volume old and brow n, 

A huge tome, bound 

In brass and w ild-boar's hide, 

Wherein were written down 

The names of all who had died 

In the convent, since it was edified. 

And there they found. 

Just as the old monk said, 

That on a certain day and date. 

One hundred years before. 

Had gone forth from the convent gate 

The Monk Felix, and never more 

Had entered that sacred door. 

He had been counted among the dead ! 

And they knew, at last. 

That, such had been the power 

Of that celestial and immortal song, 

A hundred years had passed, 

And had not seemed so long 

As a single hour ! 



2r9 




TALES 

OF A 

WAYSIDE 

INN 



a; 



:h 






^ 



'V-' ^' 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 




Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of die midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; 

Hardly a man is noA\' alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend, " If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night. 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch 
Of the North Church toA\er as a signal light, — 
One, if b}- land, and two, if by sea ; 
And I on the opposite shore will be, 
Read}- to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm. 
For the country folk to be up and to arm." 

Then he said, "Good night ! " and with muffled oar 
Silently ro\ved to the Charlesto^^■n shore, 
Just as the moon rose o^'er the bay, 
283 



PAUL REVERE' S RIDE 

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 

Across the moon like a prison bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers. 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, 

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 

To the belfry-chamber overhead, 

And startled the pigeons from their perch 

On the sombre rafters, that round him made 

Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 

By the trembling ladder, steep and tall. 

To the highest window in the wall. 

Where he paused to listen and look down 

A moment on the roofs of the town. 

And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 
In their night-encampment on the hill, 
Wrapped in silence so deep and still 

284 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 

That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 

The watchful night-wind, as it went 

Creeping along from tent to tent, 

And seeming to whisper, ' ' All is well ! " 

A moment only he feels the spell 

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 

On a shadowy something far away, 

Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 

A line of black that bends and floats 

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side, 
Now gazed at the landscape far and near. 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 
But mostly he w atched \vith eager search 
The belfry-tow^er of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill. 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns. 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight, 
A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 

285 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark. 

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : 

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the 

light, 
The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight. 
Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

He has left the village and mounted the steep. 
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep. 
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; 
And under the alders that skirt its edge. 
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge. 
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 

It was twelve by the village clock. 

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 

He heard the crowing of the cock. 

And the barking of the farmer's dog. 

And felt the damp of the river fog. 

That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock. 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed. 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 

286 



A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 

As if the}- alread}- stood aghast 

At the blood}' ^\ ork they would look upon. 

It was two by the \'illage clock, 

When he came to the bridge in Concord to\\n. 

He heard the bleating of the flock, 

And the t^\■itter of birds among the trees. 

And felt the breath of the morning breeze 

Blowing over the meadows brown. 

And one was safe and asleep in his bed 

Who at the bridge 'would be first to fall, 

Who that day would be lying dead, 

Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read. 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
Ho\v the farmers gave them ball for ball. 
From behind each fence and farm-yard A\all, 
Chasing the red-coats doA\n the lane, 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road. 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 
And so through the night went his cry of alarm 
To every Middlesex village and farm, — 
A cry of defiance and not of fear, 
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 
287 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 

And a word that shall echo forevermore ! 
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 
Through all our history, to the last, 
In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 
The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed 
And the midnight message of Paul RcAcre. 



288 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 

And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Apparelled in magnificent attire, 

With retinue of many a knight and squire, 

On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 

And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 

Repeated, like a burden or refrain. 

He caught the words, " Deposuit potentes 

De sede^ et exaltavit humiles ; ' ' 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head 

He to a learned clerk beside him said, 

' * What mean these words ? ' ' The clerk made answer 

meet, 
* ' He has put down the mighty from their seat. 
And has exalted them of low degree." 
Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 
'"T is well that such seditious words are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 
For unto priests and people be it known, 
There is no power can push me from my throne ! " 
And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 
When he awoke, it was already night ; 

289 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

The church was empty, and there was no light, 
Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint. 
Lighted a little space before some saint. 
He started from his seat and gazed around. 
But saw no living thing and heard no sound. 
He groped towards the door, but it was locked ; 
He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, 
And uttered awful threatenings and complaints. 
And imprecations upon men and saints. 
The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout. 
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there ? " 
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, 

' ' Open : 't is I, the King ! Art thou afraid ? ' ' 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, 

"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " 
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride. 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the night. 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
290 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

Despoiled of his magnificent attire, 
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire. 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; 
Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page, 
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed. 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room, 
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 

There on the dais sat another king, 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring. 
King Robert's self in features, form, and height, 
But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an Angel ; and his presence there 
With a divine effulgence filled the air. 
An exaltation, piercing the disguise. 
Though none the hidden Angel recognize. 

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed. 
The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, 
Who met his look of anger and surprise 
With the divine compassion of his eyes ; 
Then said, "Who art thou ? and why com'st thou here? " 
To which King Robert answered with a sneer, 
' ' I am the King, and come to claim my own 

291 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " 
And suddenly, at these audacious words. 
Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords ; 
The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, 
' Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou 
Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape. 
And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape ; 
Thou shalt obey my servants when they call. 
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! ' ' 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, 

They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs ; 

A group of tittering pages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding-door, 

His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms. 

The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 

With the mock plaudits of ' ' Long live the King ! ' ' 

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam. 
He said within himself, ' ' It was a dream ! ' ' 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head, 
There were the cap and bells beside his bed. 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, 
Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls. 
And in the corner, a revolting shape. 
Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. 
It was no dream ; the world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! 
292 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

Days came and went ; and now returned again 

To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 

Under the Angel's governance benign 

The happy island danced with corn and wine, 

And deep within the mountain's burning breast 

Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 
Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 
Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear. 
With look bewildered and a vacant stare. 
Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left,— he still was unsubdued. 
And when the Angel met him on his way, 
And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, 
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 
The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 

' Art thou the King? " the passion of his woe 
Burst from him in resisdess overflow, 

And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling 

The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the King ! ' ' 

Almost three years were ended ; when there came 
Ambassadors of great repute and name 
From Valmond, Emperor of AJlemaine, 
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 
By letter summoned them forthwith to come 

293 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 

The Angel with great joy received his guests, 

And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 

And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined. 

And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 

Then he departed with them o'er the sea 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 

By the mere passing of that cavalcade. 

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait. 

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind. 

The solemn ape demurely perched behind. 

King Robert rode, making huge merriment 

In all the country towns through which they went. 

The Pope received them with great pomp and blare 
Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square. 
Giving his benediction and embrace, 
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
While with congratulations and with prayers 
He entertained the Angel unawares, 
Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd. 
Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, 
I am the King ! Look, and behold in me 
Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! 
This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, 
294 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 

Do you not know me ? does no voice within 

Answer my cry, and say we are akin?" 

The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien. 

Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene ; 

The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange sport 

To keep a madman for thy Fool at court ! ' ' 

And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 

Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the Holy Week went by. 

And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; 

The presence of the Angel, with its light. 

Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 

And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, 

Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 

Even the Jester, on his bed of straw. 

With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, 

He felt within a power unfelt before. 

And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor. 

He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 

Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. 

And now the visit ending, and once more 
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore. 
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again 
The land was made resplendent with his train. 
Flashing along the towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 
295 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

And when once more within Palermo's wall, 

And, seated on the throne in his great hall. 

He heard the Angelus from convent towers, 

As if the better world conversed with ours, 

He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, 

And with a gesture bade the rest retire ; 

And when they were alone, the Angel said, 

' ' Art thou the King? " Then, bowing down his head, 

King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast. 

And meekly answered him : ' ' Thou knowest best ! 

My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence. 

And in some cloister's school of penitence. 

Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven. 

Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven ! " 

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face 

A holy light illumined all the place. 

And through the open window, loud and clear. 

They heard the monks chant in the chapel near. 

Above the stir and tumult of the street : 

' ' He has put down the mighty from their seat, 

And has exalted them of low degree ! " 

And through the chant a second melody 

Rose like the throbbing of a single string : 

" I am an Angel, and thou art the King ! ' ' 

King Robert, who was standing near the throne. 
Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone! 



296 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY 

But all apparelled as in days of old, 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; 
And- when his courtiers came, they found him there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 



297 



THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT 

Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, 

In his ship-yard by the sea, 
Whistling, said, " It would bewilder 
Any man but Thorberg Skafting, 

Any man but me ! " 

Near him lay the Dragon stranded. 
Built of old by Raud the Strong, 

And King Olaf had commanded 

He should build another Dragon, 
Twice as large and long. 

Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, 
As he sat with half-closed eyes, 

And his head turned sideways, drafting 

That new vessel for King Olaf 
Twice the Dragon's size. 

Round him busily hewed and hammered 

Mallet huge and heavy axe ; 
Workmen laughed and sang and clamored : 
Whirred the wheels, that into rigging 
Spun the shining flax ! . 

298 



Men shall hear of 'Thorberg Skaftir.g 
For a hundred year ! ' ' 



THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT 

All this tumult heard the master, — 

It was music to his ear ; 
Fancy whispered all the faster, 
' ' Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting 

For a hundred year! " 

Workmen sweating at the forges 
Fashioned iron bolt and bar, 
Like a warlock's midnight orgies 
Smoked and bubbled the black caldron 
With the boiling tar. 

Did the warlocks mingle in it, 

Thorberg Skafting, any curse ? 
Could you not be gone a minute 
But some mischief must be doing, 
Turning bad to worse ? 

'Twas an ill wind that came wafting 
From his homestead words of woe ; 

To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, 

Oft repeating to his workmen. 
Build ye thus and so. 

After long delays returning 

Came the master back by night; 

To his ship-yard longing, yearning, 

Hurried he, and did not leave it 
Till the morning's light. 
299 



THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT 

" Come and see my ship, my darling ! ' ' 

On the morrow said the King ; 
' ' Finished now from keel to carling ; 
Never yet was seen in Norway 
Such a wondrous thing ! ' ' 

In the ship-yard, idly talking, 

At the ship the workmen stared : 
Some one, all their labor balking, 
Down her sides had cut deep gashes, 
Not a plank was spared ! 

' ' Death be to the evil-doer ! ' ' 

With an oath King Olaf spoke ! ' ' 
' ' But rewards to his pursuer ! ' ' 
And with wrath his face grew redder 
Than his scarlet cloak. 

Straight the master-builder, smiling. 
Answered thus the angry King : 
" Cease blaspheming and reviling, 

Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting 
Who has done this thing ! " 

Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, 

Till the King, delighted, swore, 
With much lauding and much thanking, 
' ' Handsomer is now my Dragon 
Than she was before ! ' ' 
300 



THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT 

Seventy ells and four extended 

On the grass the vessel's keel ; 
- High above it, gilt and splendid, 

Rose the figure-head ferocious 
With its crest of steel. 



Then they launched her from the tressels, 

In the ship-yard by the sea ; 
She was the grandest of all vessels, 
Never ship was built in Norway 
Half so fine as she ! 

The Long Serpent was she christened, 

'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer ! 
They who to the Saga listened 
Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting 
For a hundred year ! 



301 



THE BELL OF ATRI 

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 
Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, 
One of those little places that have run 
Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun. 
And then sat down to rest, as if to say, 
"I climb no farther upward, come what may," — 
The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame. 
So many monarch s since have borne the name. 
Had a great bell hung in the market-place. 
Beneath a roof, projecting some small space 
By way of shelter from the sun and rain. 
Then rode he through the streets with all his train, 
And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, 
Made proclamation, that whenever wrong 
Was done to any man, he should but ring 
The great bell in the square, and he, the King, 
Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. 
Such was the proclamation of King John. 

How swift the happy days in Atri sped. 
What wrongs were righted, need not here be said. 
Suffice it that, as all things must decay. 
The hempen rope at length was worn away, 
Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand, 

302 



THE BELL OF ATRI 

Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, 
Till one, who noted this in passing by. 
Mended the rope with braids of briony. 
So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine 
Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. 

By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt 
A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt, 
Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods. 
Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods. 
Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports 
And prodigalities of camps and courts ; — 
Loved, or had loved them ; for at last, grown old. 
His only passion was the love of gold. 

He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, 
Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds. 
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all. 
To starve and shiver in a naked stall. 
And day by day sat brooding in his chair, 
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. 

At length he said : ' ' What is the use or need 

To keep at my own cost this lazy steed, 

Eating his head off in my stables here. 

When rents are low and provender is dear? 

Let him go feed upon the public ways ; 

I want him only for the holidays." 

So the old steed was turned into the heat 

303 



THE BELL OF ATRI 

Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street ; 
And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn. 
Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn. 

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime 
It is the custom in the summer time. 
With bolted doors and window-shutters closed. 
The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed ; 
When suddenly upon their senses fell 
The loud alarm of the accusing bell ! 
The Syndic started from his deep repose. 
Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose 
And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace 
Went panting forth into the market-place. 
Where the great bell upon its cross-beams swung. 
Reiterating with persistent tongue, 
In half-articulate jargon, the old song : 
"Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong ! " 

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade 
He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade. 
No shape of human form of woman born. 
But a poor steed dejected and forlorn. 
Who with uplifted head and eager eye 
Was tugging at the vines of briony. 
" Domeneddio! " cried the Syndic straight, 
' ' This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state ! 
He calls for justice, being sore distressed. 
And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." 

304 



THE BELL OF ATRI 

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd 

Had rolled together like a summer cloud, 

And told the story of the wretched beast 

In fi\'e-and-t\\enty different ways at least, 

With much gesticulation and appeal 

To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. 

The Knight was called and questioned ; in reply 

Did not confess the fact, did not deny ; 

Treated the matter as a pleasant jest. 

And set at naught the Syndic and the rest, 

Maintaining, in an angry undertone, 

That he should do what pleased him with his own. 

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read 
The proclamation of the King ; then said : 
' Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, 
But Cometh back on foot, and begs its way ; 
Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds. 
Of flowers of chivalry and not of \veeds ! 
These are familiar proverbs ; but I fear 
They never yet have reached your knightly ear. 
What fair renown, what honor, what repute 
Can come to you from starving this poor brute ? 
He who serves well and speaks not, merits more 
Than they who clamor loudest at the door. 
Therefore the law decrees that as this steed 
Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed 
To comfort his old age, and to provide 
Shelter in stall, and food and field beside." 

305 



THE BELL OF ATRI 

The Knight withdrew abashed ; the people all 

Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. 

The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee, 

And cried aloud : " Right well it pleaseth me ! 

Church-bells at best but ring us to the door; 

But go not into mass ; my bell doth more : 

It Cometh into court and pleads the cause 

Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws ; 

And this shall make, in every Christian clime, 

The Bell of Atri famous for all time. ' ' 



306 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 



At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, 

Within the sandy bar, 
At sunset of a summer's day. 
Ready for sea, at anchor lay 

The good ship Valdemar. 

The sunbeams danced upon the waves, 

And played along her side ; 
And through the cabin windows streamed 
In ripples of golden light, that seemed 

The ripple of the tide. 

There sat the captain with his friends, 

Old skippers brown and hale. 
Who smoked and grumbled o'er their grog, 
And talked of iceberg and of fog, 

Of calm and storm and gale. 

And one was spinning a sailor's yarn 

About Klaboterman, 
The Kobold of the sea ; a spright 
Invisible to mortal sight, 

Who o'er the rigging ran. 
307 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

Sometimes he hammered in the hold, 

Sometimes upon the mast, 
Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft. 
Or at the bows he sang and laughed. 

And made all tight and fast. 

He helped the sailors at their work. 

And toiled with jovial din ; 
He helped them hoist and reef the sails. 
He helped them stow the casks and bales, 

And heave the anchor in. 

But woe unto the lazy louts, 

The idlers of the crew ; 
Them to torment was his delight, 
And worry them by day and night. 

And pinch them black and blue. 

And woe to him whose mortal eyes 

Klaboterman behold. 
It is a certain sign of death ! — 
The cabin-boy here held his breath, 

He felt his blood run cold. 

II 

The jolly skipper paused awhile. 

And then again began ; 
There is a Spectre Ship," quoth he, 
A ship of the Dead that sails the sea, 

And is called the Carmilhan. 
308 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

' A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew, 

In tempests she appears ; 
And before the gale, or against the gale. 
She sails without a rag of sail, 
Without a helmsman steers. 

' She haunts the Atlantic north and south, 

But mostly the mid-sea. 
Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare 
Like furnace chimneys in the air. 

And are called the Chimneys Three. 

And ill betide the luckless ship 

That meets the Carmilhan ; 
Over her decks the seas will leap, 
She must go down into the deep, 

And perish mouse and man." 

The captain of the Valdemar 

Laughed loud with merry heart. 
' I should like to see this ship," said he ; 
' I should like to find these Chimneys Three 

That are marked down in the chart. 

I have sailed right over the spot," he said, 

"With a good stiffbreeze behind. 
When the sea was blue, and the sky was clear, - 
You can follow my course by these pinholes here,- 
Aiid never a rock could find." 
309 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

And then he swore a dreadful oadi, 

He swore by the Kingdoms Three, 
That, should he meet the Carmilhan, 
He would run her down, although he ran 
Right into Eternity ! 

All this, while passing to and fro. 

The cabin-boy had heard ; 
He lingered at the door to hear, 
And drank in all with greedy ear. 

And pondered every word. 

He was a simple country lad, 

But of a roving mind. 
■ Oh, it must be like heaven," thought he, 
' Those far-off foreign lands to see. 

And fortune seek and find ! ' ' 

But in the fo'castle, when he heard 

The mariners blaspheme. 
He thought of home, he thought of God, 
And his mother under the churchyard sod, 

And wished it were a dream. 

One friend on board that ship had he ; 

'T was the Klaboterman, 
Who saw the Bible in his chest. 
And made a sign upon his breast. 

All evil things to ban. 
310 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

m 

The cabin windows have grown blank 

As eyeballs of the dead ; 
No more the glancing sunbeams burn 
On the gilt letters of the stern, 

But on the figure-head ; 

On Valdemar Victorious, 

Who looketh with disdain 
To see his image in the tide 
Dismembered float from side to side, 

And reunite again. 

'It is the wind," those skippers said, 

That swings the vessel so ; 
It is the wind; it freshens fast, 
'T is time to say farewell at last, 
'T is time for us to go." 

They shook the captain by the hand, 

Good luck ! good luck ! ' ' they cried ; 
Each face was like the setting sun. 
As, broad and red, they one by one 
Went o'er the vessel's side. 

The sun went down, the full moon rose. 

Serene o'er field and flood ; 
And all the winding creeks and bays 
And broad sea-meadows seemed ablaze, 

The sky was red as blood. 
311 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

The southwest wind blew fresh and fair ; 

As fair as wind could be ; 
Bound for Odessa, o'er the bar, 
With all sail set, the Valdemar 

Went proudly out to sea. 

The lovely moon climbs up the sky 

As one who walks in dreams ; 
A tower of marble in her light, 
A wall of black, a wall of white, 
The stately vessel seems. 

Low down upon the sandy coast 

The lights begin to burn ; 
And now, uplifted high in air. 
They kindle with a fiercer glare, 
And now drop far astern. 

The dawn appears, the land is gone, 

The sea is all around ; 
Then on each hand low hills of sand 
Emerge and form another land ; 

She steereth through the Sound. 

Through Kattegat and Skager-rack 

She flitteth like a ghost ; 
By day and night, by night and day, 
She bounds, she flies upon her way 

Along the English coast. 
312 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

Cape Finisterre is drawing near, 

Cape Finisterre is past ; 
Into the open ocean stream 
She floats, the vision of a dream 

Too beautiful to last. 

Suns rise and set, and rise, and yet 

There is no land in sight ; 
The liquid planets overhead 
Burn brighter now the moon is dead. 

And longer stays the night. 

IV 

And now along the horizon's edge 

Mountains of cloud uprose, 
Black as with forests underneath, 
Above, their sharp and jagged teeth 

Were white as drifted snows. 

Unseen behind them sank the sun, 

But flushed each snoAvy peak 
A little while with rosy light, 
That faded slowly from the sight 

As blushes from the cheek. 

Black grew the sky, — all black, all black ; 

The clouds were everywhere ; 
There was a feeling of suspense 
In nature, a mysterious sense 

Of terror in the air. 
313 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

And all on board the Valdemar 

Was still as still could be ; 
Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled, 
As ever and anon she rolled, 

And lurched into the sea. 

The captain up and down the deck 

Went striding to and fro ; 
Now watched the compass at the wheel, 
Now lifted up his hand to feel 

Which way the wind might blow. 

And now he looked up at the sails, 

And now upon the deep ; 
In every fibre of his frame 
He felt the storm before it came. 

He had no thought of sleep. 

Eight bells ! and suddenly abaft. 

With a great rush of rain, 
Making the ocean white with spume, 
In darkness like the day of doom, 

On came the hurricane. 

The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud. 

And rent the sky in two ; 
A jagged flame, a single jet 
Of white fire, like a bayonet. 

That pierced the eyeballs through. 
314 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

Then all around was dark again, 

And blacker than before ; 
But in that single flash of light 
He had beheld a fearful sight, 

And thought of the oath he swore. 

For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead, 

The ghostly Carmilhan ! 
Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare, 
And on her bowsprit, poised in air. 

Sat the Klaboterman. 

Her creAV of ghosts was all on deck 

Or clambering up the shrouds ; 
The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail 
Were like the piping of the gale, 

And thunder in the clouds. 

And close behind the Carmilhan 

There rose up from the sea. 
As from a foundered ship of stone, 
Three bare and splintered masts alone : 

They were the Chimneys Three. 

And onward dashed the Valdemar 

And leaped into the dark ; 
A denser mist, a colder blast, 
A litde shudder, and she had passed 

Right through the Phantom Bark. 

315 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN 

She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk, 

But cleft it unaware ; 
As when, careering to her nest. 
The sea-gull severs with her breast 

The unresisting air. 

Again the lightning flashed ; again 

They saw the Carmilhan, 
Whole as before in hull and spar ; 
But now on board of the Valdemar 

Stood the Klaboterman. 

And they all knew their doom was sealed ; 

They knew that death was near ; 
Some prayed who never prayed before, 
And some they wept, and some they swore, 

And some were mute with fear. 

Then suddenly there came a shock. 

And louder than wind or sea 
A cry burst from the crew on deck. 
As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck. 

Upon the Chimneys Three. 

The storm and night were passed, the light 

To streak the east began ; 
The cabin-boy, picked up at sea. 
Survived the wreck, and only he, 

To tell of the Carmilhan . 
316 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL 

■ Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 
That is what the Vision said. 

In his chamber all alone, 
Kneeling on the floor of stone, 
Prayed the Monk in deep contrition 
For his sins of indecision. 
Prayed for greater self-denial 
In temptation and in trial ; 
It was noonday by the dial. 
And the Monk was all alone. 

Suddenly, as if it lightened, 
An unwonted splendor brightened 
All within him and without him 
In that narrow cell of stone ; 
And he saw the Blessed Vision 
Of our Lord, with light Elysian 
Like a vesture wrapped about Him, 
Like a garment round Him thrown. 

Not as crucified and slain, 
Not in agonies of pain, 
Not with bleeding hands and feet. 
Did the Monk his Master see ; 
317 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL 

But as in the village street, 
In the house or harvest-field, 
Halt and lame and blind He healed. 
When He walked in Galilee. 

In an attitude imploring. 

Hands upon his bosom crossed. 

Wondering, worshipping, adoring, 

Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 

Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest. 

Who am I, that thus thou deignest 

To reveal thyself to me? 

Who am I, that from the centre 

Of thy glory thou shouldst enter 

This poor cell, my guest to be ? 

Then amid his exaltation. 
Loud the convent bell appalling. 
From its belfry calling, calling. 
Rang through court and corridor 
With persistent iteration 
He had never heard before. 
It was now the appointed hour 
When alike in shine or shower. 
Winter's cold or summer's heat, 
To the convent portals came 
All the blind and halt and lame, 
All the beggars of the street, 
For their daily dole of food 

318 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL 

Dealt them by the brotherhood ; 
And their almoner was he 
Who upon his bended knee, 
Rapt in silent ecstasy 
Of divinest self-surrender, 
Saw the Vision and the Splendor. 
Deep distress and hesitation 
Mingled with his adoration ; 
Should he go or should he stay? 
Should he leave the poor to wait 
Hungry at the convent gate. 
Till the Vision passed away? 
Should he slight his radiant guest, 
Slight this visitant celestial. 
For a crowd of ragged, bestial 
Beggars at the convent gate? 
Would the Vision there remain? 
Would the Vision come again? 
Then a voice within his breast 
Whispered, audible and clear 
As if to the outward ear : 
Do thy duty ; that is best ; 
Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! ' ' 

Straightway to his feet he started. 
And with longing look intent 
On the Blessed Vision bent. 
Slowly from his cell departed, 
Slowly on his errand went. 
319 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL 

At the gate the poor were waiting, 
Looking through the iron grating, 
With that terror in the eye 
That is only seen in those 
Who amid their wants and woes 
Hear the sound of doors that close. 
And of feet that pass them by ; 
Grown familiar with disfavor. 
Grown familiar with the savor 
Of the bread by which men die ! 
But to-day, they know not why. 
Like the gate of Paradise 
Seemed the convent gate to rise. 
Like a sacrament divine 
Seemed to them the bread and wine. 
In his heart the Monk was praying. 
Thinking of the homeless poor, 
What they suffer and endure ; 
What we see not, what we see ; 
And the inward voice was saying : 
' Whatsoever thing thou doest 
To the least of mine and lowest. 
That thou doest unto me ! ' ' 

Unto me ! but had the Vision 
Come to him in beggar's clothing, 
Come a mendicant imploring, 
Would he then have knelt adoring, 

320 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL 

Or have listened with derision, 

And have turned away with loathing ? 

Thus his conscience put the question, 
Full of troublesome suggestion, 
As at length, with hurried pace. 
Towards his cell he turned his face, 
And beheld the convent bright 
With a supernatural light. 
Like a luminous cloud expanding 
Over floor and wall and ceiling. 

But he paused with awe-struck feeling 
At the threshold of his door. 
For the Vision still was standing 
As he left it there before, 
When the convent bell appalling. 
From its belfry calling, calling, 
Summoned him to feed the poor. 
Through the long hour intervening 
It had waited his return. 
And he felt his bosom burn. 
Comprehending all the meaning. 
When the Blessed Vision said, 
■ Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! ' ' 



321 



CHARLEMAGNE 

Olger the Dane and Desiderio, 

King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower 

Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, 

League after league of harvests, to the foot 

Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach 

A mighty army, thronging all the roads 

That led into the city. And the King 

Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth 

As hostage at the court of France, and knew 

The Emperor's form and face : " Is Charlemagne 

Among that host ? ' ' And Olger answered : ' ' No. ' ' 

And still the innumerable multitude 
Flowed onward and increased, until the King 
Cried in amazement : ' ' Surely Charlemagne 
Is coming in the midst of all these knights ! ' ' 
And Olger answered slowly : ' ' No ; not yet ; 
He will not come so soon." Then much disturbed 
King Desiderio asked, " What shall we do. 
If he approach with a still greater army? " 
And Olger answered : ' ' When he shall appear, 
You will behold what manner of man he is ; 
But what will then befall us I know not." 

322 



CHARLEMAGNE 

Then came the guard that never knew repose, 
The Paladins of France ; and at the sight 
The Lombard King o'ercome with terror cried : 
' This must be Charlemagne ! ' ' and as before 
Did Olger answer : ' ' No ; not yet, not yet.' ' 

And then appeared in panoply complete 
The Bishops and the Abbots and the Priests 
Of the imperial chapel, and the Counts ; 
And Desiderio could no more endure 
The light of day, nor yet encounter death, 
But sobbed aloud and said : ' ' Let us go down 
And hide us in the bosom of the earth. 
Far from the sight and anger of a foe 
So terrible as this ! ' ' And Olger said : 
' When you behold the harvests in the fields 
Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino 
Lashing the city walls with iron waves, 
Then may you know that Charlemagne is come. " 
And even as he spake, in the northwest, 
Lo ! there uprose a black and threatening cloud. 
Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms 
Upon the people pent up in the city ; 
A light more terrible than any darkness, 
And Charlemagne appeared ; — a Man of Iron! 

His helmet was of iron, and his gloves 
Of iron, and his breastplate and his greaves 
And tassets were of iron, and his shield. 

323 



CHARLEMAGNE 

In his left hand he held an iron spear, 

In his right hand his sword invincible. 

The horse he rode on had the strength of iron, 

And color of iron. All who went before him. 

Beside him and behind him, his whole host. 

Were armed with iron, and their hearts within them 

Were stronger than the armor that they wore. 

The fields and all the roads were filled with iron. 

And points of iron glistened in the sun 

And shed a terror through the city streets. 

This at a single glance Olger the Dane 
Saw from the tower, and turning to the King 
Exclaimed in haste : "Behold! this is the man 
You looked for with such eagerness ! ' ' and then 
FeU as one dead at Desiderio's feet. 



324 



INDEXES 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

Page 

A fleet with flags arrayed 250 

A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks 232 

A mist was driving down the British Channel .... 194 

A wind came up out of the sea 216 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 172 

All are architects of Fate 181 

Am I a king, that I should call my own 261 

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay 224 

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 302 

At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea 307 

Behold ! a giant am I ! 267 

Beside the ungathered rice he lay 39 

Between the dark and the daylight 220 

" Build me straight, O worthy Master ! " 157 

By his evening fire the artist 183 

Dost thou see on the rampart's height . . ... 260 

Flow on, sweet river ! like his verse 269 

Forth upon the Gitchie Gumee 135 

" Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree ! " 130 

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas . 69 

" Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 317 

Have you read in the Talmud of old 217 

How beautiful is the rain ! 60 

How much of my young heart, O Spain 244 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day 230 

I see amid the fields of Ayr 264 

I shot an arrow into the air 78 

I stood on the bridge at midnight 64 

327 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 41 

In his chamber, weak and dying 57 

In Mather's Magnalia Christi 191 

In that building, long and low 206 

In that desolate land and lone 248 

In the ancient town of Bruges 47 

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown 50 

It was fifty years ago .214 

It was the schooner Hesperus 24 

Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the 

meadows . 144 

Labor with what zeal we will 229 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 283 

Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes 34 

Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet 253 

Nowhere such a devious stream 239 

O gift of God ! O perfect day 227 

Often I think of the beautiful town 202 

Olger the Dane and Desiderio 322 

Once into a quiet village 185 

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain 197 

One morning, all alone 275 

Othere, the old sea-captain 209 

Out of the bosom of the Air 226 

River ! that in silence windest 32 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 289 

Simon Danz has come home again 241 

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest 273 

Solemnly, mournfully 79 

Somewhat back from the village street 75 

Southward with fleet of ice 176 

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden .... 7 

328 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

" Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! " 17 

Stars of the summer night ! 43 

Taddeo Gaddi built me, I am old 234 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers 3 

The brooklet came from the mountain 233 

The ceaseless rain is falling fast 235 

The daj is done, and the darkness 67 

The night is come, but not too soon 5 

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea 178 

The shades of night were falling fast 37 

The sun is bright, — the air is clear 30 

The twilight is sad and cloudy 174 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling 54 

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hem- 
locks 83 

Thorberg Skafting, master-builder 298 

Three Kings came riding from far away 257 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 28 

Under Mount vEtna he lies 222 

Under the walls of Monterey 200 

Up soared the lark into the air 237 

Vogelweid the Minnesinger 72 

When the warm sun, that brings 13 

When winter winds are piercing chill 15 

Why dost thou wildly rush and roar 270 



329 



INDEX OF TITLES 

Page 
April Day, An 13 

Arrow and the Song, The 78 

Arsenal at Springfield, The 54 

Avon, To the 269 



Ballad of Carmilhan, The 
Ballad of the French Fleet, A . 
Belfry of Bruges, The 
Bell of Atri, The 

Bridge, The 

Brook and the Wave, The . 

Builders, The 

Building of the Long Serpent, The 
Building of the Ship, The 



307 
250 

47 
302 

64 

233 
181 
298 
157 



Carillon 47 

Castle-Builder, The 232 

Castles in Spain 244 

Charlemagne 322 

Children's Hour, The 220 

Christmas Bells 230 

Cumberland, The 224 

Curfew 79 



Daybreak 

Day is Done, The 
Day of Sunshine, A . . . 
Decoration Day . . . 

Discovery of the North Cape, The 
Driving Cloud, To the 

331 



216 
67 

227 

273 

209 

69 



INDEX OF TITLES 
Dutch Picture, A 241 

Emperor's Bird's-Nest, The 197 

EnCELADUS 222 

Evangeline, Part I 83 

Excelsior • • 37 

Fiftieth Birthday OF Agassiz, The . . . .214 

Flowers 7 

From my Arm-Chair 261 

Caspar Becerra 183 

Hiawatha's Fishing 135 

Hiawatha's Sailing 130 

It is not always May 30 

King Robert of Sicily 289 

Leap of Roushan Beg, The 253 

Legend Beautiful, The . . . . , .317 

Light of Stars, The 5 

Lighthouse, The 178 

Mad River 270 

Maidenhood 34 

Monk Felix 275 

My Lost Youth 202 

Norman Baron, The 57 

Old Bridge at Florence, The 234 

Old Clock on the Stairs, The 75 

332 



INDEX OF TITLES 

Paul Revere's Ride 283 

Pegasus in Pound 185 

Phantom Ship, The 191 

Psalm of Life, A 3 



Rain in Summer 

Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face, The 

River Charles, To the 

Robert Burns .... 



60 
. 248 
32 
. 264 
Ropewalk, The 206 



Sailing of the Mayflower, The, from " The Courtship 
of Miles Standish " . 

Sandalphon 

Secret of the Sea, The 

Serenade, from *' The Spanish Student " 

Sermon of St. Francis, The 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert .... 

Skeleton in Armor, The . 

Slave in the Dismal Swamp, The 

Slave's Dream, The .... 

Snow-Flakes 

Something Left Undone . 

SoNGO River 



144 
217 
172 
43 
237 
176 

17 
41 

39 
226 
229 
239 



Three Kings, The 257 

To the Avon 269 

To the Driving Cloud 69 

To the River Charles 32 

Travels by the Fireside 235 

Twilight 174 



Victor Galbraith 200 

Village Blacksmith, The 28 

333 



INDEX OF TITLES 

Walter von der Vogelweid 72 

Warden of the Cinque Ports, The .... 194 

White Czar, The 260 

Windmill, The 267 

Woods IN Winter 15 

Wreck of the Hesperus, The 24 



334 



CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 



